


when everything is coming your way (you're in the wrong lane)

by whisperdlullaby



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:14:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperdlullaby/pseuds/whisperdlullaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>into his second year of high school, spencer is beginning to learn what it's like to grow up, and how to survive it. from virginity and friendship to hormones and nasty ex-boyfriends, his sophomore year doesn't turn out quite how he expected it to; then again, with an insecure best friend and the school's most lovable senior for a boyfriend, 'ordinary' might have been too much to hope for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when everything is coming your way (you're in the wrong lane)

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally supposed to be just a cutesy, little high school fic in which jon and spencer were just in the beginning's of their relationship but, somehow, it turned into this. 50,000 words of this. idek. also, let's just pretend this high school is in an alternate universe where it's completely normal and accepted for boys to date other boys, because that's kind of how it turned out, since i wanted it to be more about their relationship/high school experience, and not just what it's like to be gay, etc. 
> 
> originally posted on lj with the same user in 2010

"There are way too many of these." Spencer groans in agony, staring up at the long wall of condoms. "There are sizes and flavours and colors and ribbed and heated and… just kill me right now. If I can't pick out condoms, how the hell is the actual sex part supposed to work?" he cries out, exasperated, tugging the ends of his hair for further dramatics. 

"Okay, first of all, you need to chill out," Ryan reasons, reaching forward to grab a box of Trojan Thins from the shelf. "Second of all, remember in Sex Ed last year, they told us there's no actual condom size?" 

Spencer nods, chuckling under his breath. The image of his gym teacher, Mr. Roberts, stretching a condom over his thick, muscled arm is something he’s never been able to forget. "Okay. Yeah. Yeah." He exhales, slightly more relieved. 

"So… I'm assuming we can also eliminate flavoured." He stops, mulling it over in his head for a moment, before reconsidering. "Or not… no. No, definitely get them." He picks up a pack of vanilla, shoving it into the basket hooked onto Spencer's arm. 

If Ryan feels at all awkward about this situation, he doesn't show it. Surprising, considering since the tender age of thirteen, Ryan has stuck to his beliefs that losing your virginity in high school is nothing more than severe naivety, and a bad attempt to cure self-esteem issues. It’s this fact alone that Spencer knows he’s forever indebted to him, even if Ryan has never said so himself. 

"I’m pretty sure no one even uses condoms for giving head, Ryan."

He stares at him, deadpanned, eyebrows furrowing. "Uh, maybe people who want mouth herpes." 

Spencer shoots him an exasperated look, rolling his eyes once Ryan shows no sign of budging. He can’t win to him; it’s impossible. 

Reaching into the basket, he pulls out the box of vanilla and replaces it with strawberry. "If I'm going to get flavoured condoms, I'm sure as hell not going to get your deodorant flavour. No offence, but the last thing I want to be thinking about while having someone's dick in my mouth is you."

"Okay, point," Ryan allows. He slides the Trojan Thins back onto the shelf and reaches for a regular. "I'm sure these would be good, unless ― wait. Maybe… tough?" He frowns, reaching forward to grab onto the other box, turning it over to read the back. "Helps to prevent sexually transmitted diseases close to two times more then regular," he reads, face pulled into a pleased expression. "Oh! These! For sure."

Spencer groans, rubbing his temple. Just when he's sure that he can't be any more humiliated than he already is, a man covered in as many tattoos as he is in muscles comes sidling up from behind them. He grabs onto three different boxes, throwing them into his basket with no more than a second glance. Without missing the opportunity, he sends them both a mocking smile before disappearing down the next aisle. 

"Oh my god, kill me right now." Spencer groans, mortified. "He probably thinks we're fucking."

"You should be so lucky," Ryan replies, dryly. "You're such an unappreciative asshole, you know that? I'm telling you right now, you're on your own when you think you're pregnant and you're whining at me to get you one of those little sticks that you pee on." 

Spencer rolls his eyes, and socks him in the arm. 

Unflinching, he says, "Why isn't Jon the one buying these anyway? He's the one wearing them after all, and I'm sure he's far more properly educated on condoms than we are."

"Because, that involves talking about it and we haven't. Yet," Spencer points out. "It hasn't even been a month." 

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't even be buying condoms in the first place," he retorts, face pulled into a condemning frown. "I thought you had more respect than that." The sad thing is, he's not even kidding. 

Rolling his eyes, Spencer grabs the box from his hand and drops it inside the basket with the other. "And I'm also a teenage boy with raging hormones. A normal one, unlike you, Mr. I-don't-want-a-boyfriend-until-I'm-thirty." Ryan sticks out his tongue, and Spencer continues, "Plus, I already told you, it's not like I'm planning on having sex with him tomorrow. I just want to prepared… just in case."

He sighs, replacing the remaining box back onto the shelf. "He's Jon Walker," he points out, matter-of-factly. "I'm sure he carries at least ten around with him at all times." 

Spencer flushes, realizing he's probably right. "Whatever," he mumbles. "Please, let's just get out of here."

"Yes, please," Ryan agrees, following him down the aisle towards the checkout. They barely make it two steps before Ryan stops abruptly, gravitating back towards the shelf. "Oh, wait. Lube." 

Spencer moans, covering his face. "Whatever. I don't care. Just pick something. All these decisions are making my head hurt." 

Ryan ignores him, taking his time to read over each and every bottle. "Hmm… Spermicidal. That sounds good," he notes, moving to drop it into Spencer's basket. 

"Ryan, it's like ten bucks more than the rest."

"So? You'll thank me when you don't contract ten different STD's." 

"Shut up, dick," Spencer says, kicking him in the shin. "Jon doesn't have any STD's."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he replies, shrugging as he starts towards the checkout once again. "I mean, Brendon is his ex, after all."

Spencer laughs, and thinks, touché. 

*

Spencer’s locker is a mess; it’s no wonder his library book is a week overdue. Moving onto his tippy-toes, he shuffles through loose papers, textbooks, and a scarf from the winter that is now over a month past. It’s five minutes before first period, and he needs to find it. His hand skims across a plastic baggy containing what might have been a sandwich once, when Jon comes from behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. "Good morning, gorgeous." He smiles loosely, and nudges his nose against Spencer neck, beard rubbing against the skin.

Spencer flushes instantly, heart gaining speed. It’s been close to a month now, and he is still amazed by the effect Jon has on him.

"Morning." Spencer huffs, the spell broken as he remembers the cause of his grievances.

"What's wrong?"

Spencer melts back into him, back fitted along his stomach. He tilts his head to the side, just enough to face him and pouts. "I lost my library book. It's already like a billion weeks overdue."

Jon looks up, forehead furrowed in thought. "Does the title have something to do with a road?"

"Yes! On the Road."

"Oh. I think it might be in my car."

"Jon," Spencer whines, turning around to shoot him the meanest glare he can muster. In most cases, Spencer has mastered the art of bitch stares, but when it comes to Jon, he mostly falls short. He figures it might work to his disadvantage one day. "Why didn't you tell me that?!" 

"Sorry," he says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I thought you knew. You're only in there like, everyday." 

Spencer groans, and turns back, grabbing his binder from what is now an even bigger mess. 

Falling back onto the locker next to his, Jon smoothes a hand along Spencer's back. "So…" he starts, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

"So?" Spencer deadpans. 

Jon opens his mouth to elaborate, but the obnoxious buzz of the warning bell cuts him off before he has the chance. He makes a face, and shoots invisible daggers at the metal box above Spencer's locker. "Here, I'll walk you," he offers. 

"Sure." Spencer shuts his locker, and turns to look at him, teasing, "You going to carry my binder too?" 

"Maybe. Do you want me to?" he asks with an expression that appears alarmingly serious. 

"Shut up." Spencer laughs, starting down the hall as Jon follows. "I'm not Brendon."

Jon chuckles, reaching down and winding his fingers into Spencer's. His heart jumps into his esophagus and then plummets back down again.

"So, can you hang out at lunch today?" 

"No, sorry. Brent's still sick and Ryan said they're done with the newspaper ahead of time," he says apologetically. "Plus, Ryan's been bitching even more lately about how you're 'stealing me away.'"

Jon groans, coming to a stop outside of Spencer's classroom. "We seriously need to find him a boyfriend." 

Spencer snorts. "Yeah, right. Ryan? The one who gives me at least one lecture a day on how he doesn't need a boyfriend to make him feel happy and 'fulfilled'? And how teenagers put too much into the idea of dating and how it's so 'over-rated'? That Ryan?"

Jon makes a face, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. "Okay, so. Maybe not." 

"Yeah," Spencer replies just as the last bell goes off. "Now you're late for class." 

He shrugs. "Oh well, whatever." Leaning forward, he pecks him a quick kiss. "I'll see you after school then, I guess?" 

Spencer nods, leaning in for another. Spencer can't be sure of the exact date or anything, but he's pretty sure that thirty-six days ago, when Jon had kissed him for the first time, was the day he realized kissing was probably the best thing to have ever been invented. 

Spencer kisses him again, then again, and then once more, and then ―

"As I'm sure this next hour will be entirely excruciating for the both of you," Mr. Thompson's nasally voice drawls into his ear, "I'd say it's time for you to say goodbye to your boyfriend, Mr. Smith, before I make you get a late slip."

Spencer blushes, ducking away. Jon only laughs, appearing vaguely pleased with himself. "Bye," he mumbles as Mr. Thompson ushers him into the classroom. 

Behind him, Jon calls in a high, sickeningly sweet voice, "Goodbye, my Sugarplum," only because he knows Spencer hates it, and because he knows he can’t go back and punch him for it. He makes a mental note to give him one after class when, sure enough, he’ll be waiting outside of the door.

Face burning even brighter, Spencer makes his way to his seat near the back, knowing people must have overheard by the way they snicker and look up at him in amusement. Some smile up at him as he passes; while another girl he still doesn't know the name of gives him her usual cheerful, "Good morning," which he then returns with his usual, awkward wave before taking a seat. 

Ever since Jon had first come into the picture a little over a month ago things have been weird, to say the very least. Before they had started dating, Spencer was more or less a nobody. He had Ryan, sure, but besides the occasional kid from band class or someone that worked on the newspaper with Ryan, no one really gave either of them the time of day. Which is why it came to surprise to everyone ― including him. Especially him ― when Jon, this hot senior ― in a band. God, he can't forget the band ― was suddenly hanging around and showing interest in some random sophomore that nobody had even heard of before. ("Him? Does he even go to our school?")

At first Spencer was hesitant, positive it was just some sick joke ― as did the rest of the school, he's sure ― but after a week of Jon asking him on dates daily and insisting that it, in fact, wasn't a sick joke, Spencer had caved. It took exactly seven days before the whole school knew his name, his address and favourite food. 

For the most part, he's found that the majority people suck up to him, smiling and asking him how he is with fake cheer; even though he's sure that two seconds later they're off bitching to their friends how 'Jon can do so much better than some loser fifteen year-old, who really isn't even that good-looking.' Trust him, he's heard it before. 

It probably is true, anyway, but Spencer chooses not to dwell on it. 

Five minutes into class, Spencer can feel the burning sensation of someone boring holes into the back of his head. Slowly, he turns to see Maya Averson two rows back, glaring at him with slit, blackened eyes. He turns back around, alarmed, and instantly pulls out his phone to text Ryan. help. i think that creepy goth girl is putting hexes on me. It's times like this he wishes his best and only friend wasn't a year older, and incidentally, not in a single one of his classes. 

His phone vibrates in his hand not even a half minute later, Ryan's name popping up on the top of the screen. scary. ill keep that in mind so i no what name to give to the cops when you turn into a frog.

thx, he types just as Mr. Thompson yells at him to put his phone away.

*

Spencer has exactly forty-five minutes alone in his house by the time he gets home from school until his mom and sisters do; he's timed it. Given the circumstances, Jon and him like to make the best of what little amount of time they have completely and entirely alone - which, on most days, involves a lot of heavy kissing and dry-humping on his bed. 

Today, however, they've barely gotten three minutes into it when Jon suddenly pulls away. Sitting up on his elbows, he looks down at Spencer with the same suggestive expression he had on his face earlier at that morning. "So…" he starts once again, and Spencer huffs impatiently, thinking this had better be important. Time is a very limited resource, and he'd like to have as much Jon make-out time as humanly possible. "You bought condoms, huh?" 

Spencer tenses, and instantly places both palms flat on Jon’s chest, pushing him away. "What, do you have a tracker on me or something?" he demands incredulously. 

"Sarah Marcus saw you and Ryan together at Rite Aid." 

"Oh Christ," Spencer curses, cheeks flushed. "It's like I'm dating a fucking celebrity."

"What can I say?" Jon smiles, and drops his face down, kissing along Spencer's jaw. "That's what you get for dating someone as irresistible as me," he teases. At least, Spencer thinks he's kidding. He's still not quite sure if Jon means half the cocky comments he says in one day or not. 

Spencer rolls his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips as Jon sucks on the skin just below his Adam's Apple. "Apparently."

Jon continues to bite and nip, smoothing his tongue across the sensitive area until Spencer's sure there's a giant bruise. He moves up, and wiggles his eyebrows once more, grinning. "So… condoms, huh?" 

"Don't get any ideas," Spencer bites back, glaring. "I'm not planning on having sex with you anytime soon." 

Jon frowns, face pulling into something of hurt and disappointment. After a second it morphs into one of confusion, like he's not sure he should be. "Don't tell me this is like, your weird way of telling me you're fucking Ryan behind my back." 

"Ew, ew, ew!" Spencer cries, cringing at the thought. "Ew, no. Gross! God, no. Shut up." He hits Jon square across the chest, who returns with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "I just ― I wanted to be prepared, okay? Just in case." He pulls his lips together tight, feeling his face heat. 

Jon makes an 'o' with his lips, then says after a moment passes, "Well, you should've told me. I would've bought them, you know. We had just never talked about it or anything. I mean, shit, the furthest we've gotten is some half-naked dry-humping, and then I hear you're suddenly buying condoms." 

"I know," Spencer says, pushing his palm into his face. "I know, I'm sorry. I just didn't want to make a big deal out of it. And like," he stops, shrugging helplessly, "I don't know. If it makes it any better, it was horrific experience. Ryan being there didn't help at all. He made me buy spermicidal lube so I don't get AIDS." 

"Ryan thinks I have AIDS?" he asks, insulted. 

"Ryan thinks everyone who has sex either gets an STD and dies, or gets pregnant," Spencer explains, giving him a consoling pat on the back. "I wouldn't take it too personally." 

Jon pulls a face, as if not entirely convinced. 

"I'm sorry," Spencer murmurs again, face slowly fading back into regular color. Jon's right, after all; they haven't done much, never mind even talk about it. Much to Spencer's initial surprise, Jon has been good about it, never pushing or taking it any further than Spencer seemed comfortable. He did have his suspicions in the beginning ― carefully egged on by Ryan, of course ― that maybe all he was to Jon was a project between him and his friends; one to take the blushing sophomores virginity and then promptly dump him on his ass. So far, if the walks in the park, the bought ice-cream, or the pet names are anything to go by, he’d say it’s a very slim chance. 

Well, he's hoping so anyway.

"It's okay," Jon replies. "It was just surprising, that's all."

Spencer nods, taking a deep breath, contemplating voicing the question that’s been floating in his mind for these past few weeks. Biting his lip, he murmurs, "So, you don't care? You know that we're not ― that I don't want to have sex?"

Jon laughs humorously, and shakes his head, moving a strand of Spencer's hair behind his ear. Spencer feels an array of tingles flare up underneath his skin. "No," he says. "I mean, I understand. Not that I wouldn't like to, but." He shrugs. "I can wait."

"Okay," Spencer says, relieved, and bites back a comment on Brendon. He's been pretty good about not playing the insecure boyfriend act, which isn't always easy when the said ex is Brendon. 

"Plus," Jon smirks, leaning down to connect their lips, "I can't say I object much to what we do now."

Spencer laughs, leaning back into the pillow as Jon takes his bottom lip between his. Hooking his arms around his neck, he murmurs, "Me neither."

When Spencer’s alarm, pre-programmed, goes off beside them a short time later ― too short, if you ask him ― they both groan, knowing they don’t have much time before his mother’s car comes pulling into the driveway. Spencer’s parents had made it very clear that in no way was Jon allowed to be in their house when they weren’t. He knows they weren’t kidding, and he’s not planning on finding out the consequences.

They spend a little bit too much time making out at the doorway, before Spencer’s pushing Jon off of him. "You need to go," he says, as firmly as he can manage, even though all he really wants to do is drag Jon back to his bed and devour him. He opens the door for him, giving him a light push out onto the doorstep. "Go before my mom comes home and I’m grounded for the rest of my life."

"Fine." He sighs, disappointed, rolling his eyes for further exaggeration.

Laughing, Spencer reaches forward to hook his hand around his neck, giving him one last, quick kiss goodbye. He breaks away before Jon has a chance to make it more again, bringing them into an even riskier make-out session on his doorstep, and steps back into his house, closing the door with him. Peaking his face through the crack, he says, smiling, "Bye, Jon. I’ll call you tonight."

He pouts, and raises his hand in the air, offering him a pathetic wave as Spencer pulls the door shut completely. 

Spencer barely has enough time to smooth out his tussled hair and wrinkled clothes, before he hears the sound of his mother pulling into the driveway and his sisters’ high-pitched voices as they race to the door.

*

Somehow, Spencer manages to make it an entire half day before he encounters the wrath of Brendon Urie. 

If given the choice between having him or Medusa as the token ex, Spencer would gladly take Medusa. As he's sure any other sane person would. 

The first time Brendon and his posse had been brought to his attention, Spencer was in his freshman year. A girl in one of his classes had unknowingly told one of her friends, who just happened to know Brendon's friend’s sister, that she thought Brendon was a slut. It was nothing more than careless words, ones that she didn't even really mean seeing as she barely knew him outside of outlandish rumours, but it was enough to warrant her three weeks of downright torture from Brendon and his clique before she transferred schools. Spencer knew, just as well as the rest of their school, that the one and only sure way to land yourself on the very top of Brendon's Most Tortured list was to get involved with Jon, and without planning on it, that's exactly what Spencer did. 

As much as Spencer tries to ignore it, rise above it, Brendon is excellent at making that nearly impossible. He had been weary about starting the relationship in the first place, knowing there had been plenty of boyfriend/girlfriend potentials before him that Brendon had managed to scare away within the span of a couple days. He barely managed a week himself, figuring Brendon’s biting words and vicious sneers just weren’t worth it, and planned on adding himself to the very long, and ever growing list. However, Jon had looked so hurt, so exasperated and annoyed as he slammed his palm into his forehead and groaned, "Again?! What is wrong with me?!" that it became so shockingly clear that Jon had no idea it was Brendon, not him. When Spencer informed him of the real reason as to why no one stuck around, he seemed so genuinely taken back, that even to this day, Spencer still wonders how Jon could’ve dated someone for two years of his life ― frequently on and off, mind you, but still ― and be so blind. 

In the end, the whole calling it off thing hadn’t worked out as well as planned. Jon promised he’d straighten it out with Brendon, and make sure it never happened again. Spencer can’t say he believed it then, he wasn’t stupid after all, but he wanted to. Jon did end up talking to him, but the only thing that did was make that much worse when Jon wasn’t around to see. 

"Oh my god," Brendon's voice says from behind his back, snickering, "I can smell the skank from here."

Spencer groans, and resists the urge to do a face plant right into his locker. 

Before Spencer can make a run for it, Brendon is at his side, smiling sickeningly sweet and pure evil, William and Jack trailing behind him. Before Brendon, Spencer didn't think so many contradictions could exist in one person. Upon first glance, Brendon looks perfectly charming, with doe eyes and smooth curves and a radiant smile, the type of guy you'd bring home to grandma, but after precisely 3.5 seconds of knowing him you found out just how wrong you truly were. Spencer figures this is why he gets away with so much. "When is it that you're going to admit to yourself that you're just a cheap consolation prize because I don't want Jon anymore?" 

Spencer looks up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, and reminds himself, once again, that he is so above this. So, so above this that he doesn't have to tell him, very blatantly, that actually no, it's Jon who didn't want you anymore. "So, when is it that you're going to stop and move on?" Spencer snaps back, bringing his eyes down to meet Brendon's glowering ones. "In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a month already. So, I think it’s pretty safe to say that this attempt at scaring me off is not going to happen." 

Brendon narrows his eyes, scoffing under his breath. "Whatever. Have fun while it lasts, because it won't be long before he's getting sick of your slutty ass and dumps you. You're just some little fifteen year-old, do you really think he's interested in you for your personality?" 

Spencer laughs, slamming his locker shut. He tries really hard not to let Brendon's words sting, but most of the time it can be next to impossible. He understands why so many people ran away. "Thank you, Brendon, really, for that valuable piece of information. I'll be sure to remember that." 

"Good," he replies, icily, face pulled into a sneer as he pulls himself off the locker. He nods to William and Jack who are wearing matching, scornful scowls, and practically body slams Spencer into the metal door of his locker as he brushes past. "Oh," he adds as an afterthought, turning around to look at him, "just another tip that'll be useful; you might want to think about losing that baby fat if you want to keep Jon around any longer." 

Spencer doesn't bother replying as Brendon spins back around, hip popping, and stalks off down the hall, William and Jack framing him from either side. Spencer stares after him with flushed cheeks, and tries to remind himself, over and over again, that it's just hollow words, spoken out through jealousy and Brendon's own insecurities. 

He realizes now that there are at least five people standing around in a close proximity to him, busying themselves with their locker or chatting with friends, but it's clear to Spencer that they've been eavesdropping. He scowls at two girls a couple lockers down, not even trying to hide the fact that they're blatantly staring at him, and snaps, "Okay, the shows over. You can leave now."

With a giggle they scurry off down the hallway, ducking their heads. Not even a moment later, Jon appears beside him, wrapping his arm around his waist and pecking a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Spencer doesn't return the gesture. Instead he glares and says, a bit venomously, "Well, you picked a great time to show up. Were you standing behind the corner like the rest of them, waiting for one us to pull each other's hair and rip off our tops?" 

Jon's forehead wrinkles in confusion, hand dropping from his waist. "Um. What?" 

"Nothing," Spencer groans, shaking his head. "Never mind." 

"Let me guess," Jon says after a beat. "Brendon?"

"How'd you know?" Spencer retorts dryly. 

"What'd he say now?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," Spencer starts. "I'm a slut, I'm just a consolation prize, I'm fat, I'm ugly." He rolls his eyes, listing them off on his fingers. 

Jon closes his eyes, and groans himself, slamming his forehead against the locker a few times. Spencer feels like doing the same thing, but Jon's already causing enough of a scene as it is, never mind the one Brendon had just made. Spencer doesn't think he needs to contribute anymore than he already has. 

The thing is, as much as they've discussed Brendon and his bitch tendencies, and Jon has insisted that it's only his 'insecurities' and 'jealousies' and to 'not listen to a word he says,' they've never gotten much further, and he's not sure they ever will. Spencer is still completely clueless as to why someone as sweet and intelligent and perfect like Jon would be with someone like Brendon. Surely someone couldn't base a two year relationship solely off good-looks and even better sex like the many rumours had suggested.

Could they? 

The bell rings, stopping the question before it comes, and Jon pulls himself from the locker, meeting Spencer's eyes. For a second, neither of them say anything, before Jon's hand is slowly rising towards him like a truce. "I'll walk you to class?"

Spencer sighs, eyeing his hand, before slowly, he reaches forward and takes it. 

The question hangs between them, thick and intrusive, the entire walk to class.

*

"I'm bored," Spencer whines, and rolls onto his back, spreading out like a starfish across Jon's floor. "If I do one more math question I'm going to poke my pencil through my eye."

Jon looks down from where he's laying on his stomach across his mattress, crouched over his homework. "Well, we can't have that now, can we?" he asks with a lopsided smile.

Spencer shakes his head, and further sticks out his lower lip.

"Just give me a sec," he says, turning back to his notebook. "I'll be done in a moment, and I'll do my best at amusing you." Spencer laughs as Jon's eyes light up mischievously. 

Beside him lays his own binder, full with sheets of paper that are more like a blurry array of numbers and symbols than actual math equations. Usually Spencer's pretty good at math, but he finds it increasingly hard to concentrate when Jon is lying in the bed next to him, all hot and sexy and waiting for Spencer's mouth to attack.

Jon's room is large and spacious, every inch of it spotless and in perfect order. It's a shocking difference to Spencer's, whose own floor is littered with books and clothes and shoes. Every time Jon comes over to his house, Spencer has to literally pull him away from tidying his room, bribing him with a kiss and pulling him towards his unmade bed. 

Which is why an overturned frame catches his eye, lying on the bottom of his shelf. It's half-hidden behind magazines and a pencil holder, and with curiosity, Spencer grabs a hold of it. He's not sure why he feels at all surprised that it's Brendon who smiles back at him, a younger version with softened eyes and white teeth. Jon stands next to him, face clean of any signs of stubble, a way Spencer's never seen him before, and he assumes that it must have been taken a couple years back. It's nothing special, just Brendon's arms wrapped around Jon's middle and their smiling faces, an unfamiliar painting and couch behind them. 

"Oh, I forgot that was still there," Jon's voice says from above. "I should probably change that, huh?"

Spencer runs his eyes over the picture once more, over Jon's smile frozen in the photograph, before lifting them up to the Jon now, older and expression pulled tighter. He hates the jealous feeling twisting in his gut, but he can't help it. He always knew Brendon and Jon were together; he even has faint memories of them together in the hallway, hands intertwined between them, but there's something about it right in front of him, the two of them looking genuinely happy, that makes him uneasy. 

Eyes slipping back to the glossy paper, Spencer asks without thinking, "Do you still have feelings for him?" The second his brain catches up with his words, realizing how insecure and whiney he sounds, he feels his cheeks light up in embarrassment. 

"What? Spencer, no," Jon says instantly, and sits up on the bed, legs swinging over the edge. "Come on. You know I don't."

Spencer keeps his eyes to the frame, refusing to meet Jon's eyes. 

"I still care for him. It's hard not to after dating someone for so long, but I stopped feeling for him in that way awhile ago." Getting down onto the floor, he crawls across the carpet to Spencer and yanks the frame from his hands, laying it on the floor beside him. "You don't really think that, do you?" 

Spencer forces himself to meet his eyes this time, and shakes his head, cheeks still burning. "No," he says, only partly lying. "No, sorry. I don't know why I asked that. Never mind." He attempts to brush it away with a strained laugh, but Jon doesn't buy it. 

Jon runs a soothing hand down his back, and Spencer instinctively leans into it. Tingles shoot up all over his body despite the awkward tension between them. "It's over between us," he insists, voice soft into his ear. "For good. Trust me when I say that."

Spencer nods, and swallows, eyes downcast. There's a pause between them, thick and strained, and Spencer wishes he had never brought it up. 

"When we first started dating, he was different," Jon starts after a moment without prompting, like he had read the thoughts that Spencer didn't know he was thinking. "He was young and a little bit naïve ― but then again, I guess I was too. He's always had this ― this need to be accepted, I guess… to be popular. He had this habit with tearing himself down." Jon pauses, and Spencer looks up to see the wrinkles between his eyes grow deeper. "For awhile there it was okay, you know? It was good. Things only really started to change when he started hanging out with William and Jack." Again he pauses, mouth wavering like the words are there, but he doesn't know how to get them out. 

"There is a different side to him," he explains tensely. "One that no one really sees. It was like this thing, this stupid fucking thing he felt like he had to keep up, this power he built himself had completely and entirely consumed him." 

Without thought, Spencer reaches forward, smoothing his hand along Jon's arm reassuringly. Jon meets his eyes briefly and bites onto his lip, breathing out heavily through his nose before continuing. "By the time I met you I was just ― so done with it. I couldn't deal with it anymore. That Brendon that I knew and ― well, loved, just wasn't there anymore." He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, still tense, and turns to look at Spencer from the corner of his eye. He nods, urging him on, and Jon finishes with, "So, I just ― I mean it when I say I don't have feelings for him. I really don't. It's over and it's done with." He reaches forward and smoothes a strand of Spencer's hair behind his ear, leaning forward to peck him a tender kiss. "I'm with you now," he murmurs softly.

Spencer smiles, and feels his shoulders begin relax, Jon distinguishing a fear he knew he had but never wanted to acknowledge. "Okay." He nods, feeling a rush of reassurance run through him. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Jon replies softly, pecking him another kiss. "I should've told you earlier."

Shaking his head, Spencer cups Jon's jaw and leans in, deepening the kiss. He tries not to think about the frame next to him, Brendon's smile facedown in the carpet. 

*

"Who even goes bowling anymore?" Ryan asks, pulling the pink and green neon shoe onto his foot. The alley is packed with families and couples, the early, Spring air still too cool for picnics or soccer games at the park. In the lane next to them, there's a screaming pack of kids, crooked birthday hats on their heads. The black light is turned on above, the designs on the walls and Jon's t-shirt glowing white. 

"Apparently you've been hanging out with the wrong people then," Jon replies from beside Spencer, tying a bow on his own. 

"So, basically your boyfriend then."

Sneaking a glance at Spencer, Jon cracks a grin. "Yeah. He's still learning on what it's like to truly be cool."

Spencer rolls his eyes, and laughs just as Tom approaches their table, bowling shoes in one hand and camera in the other. Tom is the guitarist in Jon's band, and also the equivalent to Jon as Ryan is to Spencer. It only seemed logical that they all hang out together; and it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Spencer is secretly scheming to hook Ryan and Tom up.

Once they're done with their shoes, Tom gets up and suggests getting drinks. Jon agrees, and stands up beside him, glancing towards Spencer. "Do you want anything?" 

"Coke, please."

"Ryan?" Tom asks before Jon has the chance to offer.

Ryan looks up from his lap, startled like he hadn't expected to be included, and sneaks a quick glance at Spencer. "Oh. Um, Ice tea would be nice," he murmurs, meekly. "Thank you." 

Tom nods, and Spencer's not sure if his cheeks really are a little pink or if it's just wishful thinking on his part. He scurries off before Spencer has a chance to think about it any further, though. 

It took a lot to convince Ryan to hang out with them. He seems to have gotten used to Jon over the past month, even opened up to him a little, but it had taken so long that Spencer was beginning to think he never would. Spencer knows it's nerve-wracking to be hanging out with two, decently cool seniors, even if Ryan is only a year younger himself. Spencer nearly hyperventilated the first time Jon insisted they hang out with Tom, scared he'd judge and ridicule him like Brendon, but all it took was Tom's friendly smile and a warm joke and Spencer was instantly set at ease. 

He knows that all Ryan needs is one night with him, and he'll be feeling the same.

"So, Tom's pretty nice, huh?" 

Ryan brings his gaze to Spencer from the couple laughing at the next lane over, eyebrows furrowing the slightest bit. "I guess so?" 

"You seem to get along well."

"We've spoken two words to each other."

Spencer shrugs. "Still."

Ryan gives him one long, steady look, as if trying to determine whether he's crazy or not before turning to stare off down their empty lane, pins erected and ready. Spencer sighs, defeated, and decides to try again later. If there's one thing Ryan is, it's stubborn.

They return, both with drinks in either hands, and Jon hands Spencer his while Tom to Ryan. Ryan thanks him quietly, eyes lowered from his. 

By the time they start their second game, Spencer's pleased to see Ryan’s slowly loosening up, growing more comfortable as he idly chats with Tom between turns. He feels a rush of delight as he thinks that maybe his plan will turn out how he hoped, after all. 

Spencer returns to their table after his turn to see Ryan reaching towards Tom's camera sitting in the middle of the table, asking, "Do you mind?" 

Tom shrugs, looking vaguely uncomfortable, but then says, "Go ahead."

Spencer takes a seat across from them as the clamour of Jon’s ball rolling down the alley resounds. Ryan fiddles with the camera, trying to find the button to view pictures, and Tom has to reach across, pressing it for him. For a moment, neither of them move, arms pressed along each other, and Spencer feels a burst of excitement rush through him. 

"Huh," Ryan says as Jon returns, eyeing them both perplexedly. "These are really good."

Tom shrugs, ducking his head, and this time the pink on his cheeks are no question. Ryan turns to look at him, and says, "Like really good. Have you ever thought about taking pictures for the school newspaper? We could really use someone like you."

"Oh, I don't know ― " 

"Tom, it's your turn," Jon cuts in, taking a seat next to Spencer. 

"Oh," Tom says, startled, as if he wasn't aware Jon was done and standing there. He stumbles out of his chair without giving a second glance to Ryan and his camera still in his hands. 

Spencer turns to glare at his boyfriend. Way to ruin the moment, asshole.

Jon ignores him, eyes flicking over to Ryan, who's still looking through Tom's pictures with an expression of admiration on his face. When he turns back to Spencer, he leans forward, mouthing so neither Ryan or Tom can overhear, "He's never even let me touch his camera before."

Spencer looks between the two of them – Ryan with his gaze still on the camera and Tom with his ball rolling into the gutter – eyes flashing with excitement.

He grins, and thinks, score. 

*

Monday afternoon, Spencer approaches Ryan's locker to see Tom already at his side, camera around his neck.

He eyes them both carefully as Ryan laughs at something Tom said, shutting his locker. Next to him, Tom is grinning so wide that Spencer is worried his face might splinter. 

"Hey," Spencer says, casually, trying not to let his excitement show. 

They both look up at him, startled that he'd be there, even though Spencer has been meeting Ryan at his locker for lunch everyday for the past two years. 

"Oh hey, Spencer." Ryan fiddles with the strap on his messenger bag as Tom greets him with his own hello. 

"What are you guys doing?" 

"Oh, Tom's just going to take pictures while I interview one of the track and field guys."

Spencer bites back his grin, eyes flicking towards Tom, who immediately looks away, skin pink beneath his stubble. "Oh, really?" 

"Yeah." Ryan's eyes drift down the crowded hall as he says, "You're fine having lunch with Jon, right?" 

"Well, yeah ― "

"Okay, great," he says, and starts backwards down the hall, Tom trailing behind. "I'll see you later then." With one wave of his hand, and a duck of Tom's head, mumbling his own goodbye, they disappear down the hall. 

Spencer grins behind his hand, and rushes into the cafeteria to tell Jon. 

*

When Spencer shows up at Ryan's the following week, he finds him sitting in front of his computer, Myspace open, and a smile that stretches from ear to ear plastered across his face. Spencer knows by that alone, that there's something seriously, seriously not right. 

Ryan doesn't notice him right away, his dad having let him in, so Spencer takes the opportunity to sneak up behind him, peering over his shoulder. On screen Ryan's clicking through artsy looking pictures of an older guy with jet black hair and piercings. His AIM bleeps just as Spencer says in a sing-song voice, "Oh, who's that?" 

Ryan yelps, flying out of his chair in fright. Spencer laughs until Ryan turns around and socks him in the gut. "You asshole!" he cries out as Spencer doubles over, grunting. "I'm not even going to say sorry for that," he retorts stubbornly, turning back to the computer. Remembering he's been caught, he quickly closes the windows, cheeks flushing. Spencer knows it has to be something good if Ryan's blushing. The last Spencer can recall was back in the fourth grade when he was hanging from the monkey bars, and Sarah Johnson pantsed him for the entire playground to see. 

"New internet boyfriend?" Spencer inquires once he's sure Ryan hasn't caused internal bleeding. 

"Shut up," he snaps, jaw clenched.

(Ryan denies it, but back in the summer before freshman year, Ryan totally had an internet boyfriend. He'd always ditch Spencer in the middle of them hanging out to go have e-dates with his bf. 

Spencer tried numerous times to tell him that he could, you know, go on real dates with a real boy that wasn't a fifty year-old man. He was good-looking enough ― still is, with wide, expressive eyes and a skinny frame with piercing hipbones that peek out from under his too small t-shirts. Even Spencer can admit that, and the last way he'd ever look at Ryan is like that ― and Spencer knew by the number of guys and girls who checked him out that they thought so too. However, all Ryan would do is punch him, tell him to shut up and mind his own business. After awhile, Spencer got sick of his body becoming Ryan's personal punching bag, and gave up. 

Two years later, and Ryan still insists he doesn't want a boyfriend. Spencer mostly pretends to understand it now.) 

Spencer smiles, and bats an innocent eyelash at him. "Well, is it?" 

Just as he's shielding himself for another Ryan punch, an IM pops up on the corner of his screen. "You there, beautiful?" he reads, and then waits a total of two point five seconds before bursts out laughing. "Myglassheart180? Oh my god, how truly emo of him."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he hisses, landing a consecutive punch to Spencer's arm for each. It lacks the strength he usually has due to the way he's pushing his beat red face into his hands and groaning like he's in pain.

"What's his name?" Spencer presses on, and Ryan buries his face deeper, shaking his head, refusing to answer. "Let me guess. Something really emo like… Alex Ambulance or… Codysaurus. Oh my god, it's totally Dylan Disaster, isn't it?"

"I hate you," Ryan seethes, bringing his head up to shoot him a death glare. However, like his punch, it looses the usual effect with his face resembling something of a tomato. 

Spencer nudges his shoulder. "You better tell him you're there before he internet dumps you."

Ryan stares at him, and says, very icily, "Don't you have a boyfriend to see or something?"

He shrugs, looking at the clock above his computer desk. "I have a few more minutes left to torture you. It's not everyday I get this kind of opportunity." 

Ryan's expression falls, and he turns back to his computer, the red splotches on his neck slowly fading. With clenched teeth, he says, "If you must know, his name’s Pete. Just Pete."

"Pete," Spencer repeats, pulling a face. "Well, that's not fun. I liked Codysaurus better. Maybe he's up on the market after Heather Heart-Attack dumped him." 

Ryan points a very straight finger towards the door, face pulled into a menacing scowl. "Leave!" he demands. 

Spencer pouts. "But this is so fun." 

"I'm sure Jon's waiting."

Jon probably is waiting; Spencer was on his way to his house, but decided to stop by Ryan's quickly since it was on the way. He figured it might help to cut down the, 'Bro's before Joes!' lecture or whatever it is he gives him on a daily basis, at least for a little bit. 

"Fine." He sighs in defeat, shoulders slumping. "But you're telling me all about this later. Don't think I'm letting you get off the hook unscathed."

"I think these past five minutes were scathing enough." 

"Nope," Spencer replies, smiling impishly as he walks back towards the door. 

"You're actually going to hang out with Jon?" Ryan asks, deadpanned. 

"Yeah," he says apologetically, lingering at the door. "I was on my way there and decided to stop by to see what you were up to." He cracks an amused smile, head tilted to the side. "And shit, am I ever glad I did." 

Ryan doesn't return his smile. In fact, the face he sends him looks hardly capable of cracking even the tiniest smile ever again. "Well, thanks for deciding to grace me with your presence," he says dryly, swiveling around in his computer chair, back towards him. 

Spencer sighs, a bit exasperated, just as his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. Text from Jon, he can only assume. "Ryan, come on. Don't do this. It's already stressful enough trying to balance my time between you two."

Ryan snorts. "I think your scale might be a little broken." 

"Ryan," he attempts once more, sighing. "How about Friday? Let's hang out on Friday, just the two of us. We'll rent movies and eat a lot of junk and play Crash Bandicoot. Just like pre-Jon days." 

Ryan remains silent, and Spencer knows that's his stubborn, too-proud way of saying yes. 

Spencer walks back over to him, ruffling his hair and pressing a quick kiss to the messy mop of fluffy hair. "Okay, Friday it is!" Crazy Little Thing Called Love starts to play from his pocket, and Ryan turns to him, rolling his eyes, but this time there's a tiny hint of a smile in it. Spencer takes this as a good sign. 

"Oh, just go already."

"Okay! Bye! I love you!" he calls, all but running out of his room. Halfway out the door, he adds, "You're telling me all about this Pete guy later!" 

He's sure he hears Ryan mutter, "Whenever that'll be," but he's already down the hall and pulling his still ringing phone from his pocket. 

"Yeah, Yeah. I'm coming," he says a bit breathlessly, and throws on his shoes. He yells a quick goodbye to Ryan's dad, who's already plastered in front of the television, glass of whiskey in his hand.

*

"So," Spencer starts, stretched out like a starfish across Jon's bed, "Ryan has a boyfriend."

"Oh?" Jon asks, raising a surprised eyebrow. "Is it serious?" 

Spencer smiles pertly, and turns onto his stomach, hooking his chin onto Jon's knee. "As serious as an internet boyfriend can be." 

Jon laughs, eyes crinkling around the edges. Spencer loves those crinkles. "Please tell me you're kidding." 

Spencer giggles, and says, "Well, okay, I'll be honest, I don't know if he's actually his internet boyfriend. All I know is that his enames Pete, and he's deliciously mo. Oh, and he also has the ability to make Ryan blush like a twelve year-old girl." 

"Oh." Jon frowns.

"What?" 

Jon shrugs, eyes drifting above Spencer's head. Spencer sits up, forcing Jon to look him in the eyes. "Well, it's just. You know Tom, right?" 

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Yes, Jon. I think I know Tom." 

"Well, we were talking last night, and I'm pretty sure he's kind of like, into him."

"Into Ryan?" Spencer repeats. 

Jon nods. 

Spencer sits up straight, beaming. "Oh my god!" he cries, reaching forward to grab onto Jon's knee, shaking it in excitement. He had been so preoccupied with laughing at Ryan that Tom had nearly slipped his mind. "I so knew it!" 

Jon pulls a face. "What? You did not. I didn't even know."

"Oh, whatever," Spencer scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I've only been talking about it for the past week."

"Well," Jon defends, shrugging, "I didn't think it was actually true."

"Oh, come on. Have you seen them? You even told me Tom never lets anyone touch his camera." Jon shrugs again, knowing he's caught, and Spencer continues, bouncing with delight, "He joined the school newspaper because of him. And oh my god, have you seen the way he looks at him? And the way he's all, 'oh, that's a nice shirt, Ryan. Oh, your hair looks really nice, Ryan. Oh, Ryan did anyone ever tell you, you have a really pretty laugh?' or 'Oh, Ryan, wait a moment while I bend down and kiss your glorious feet.'"

Jon returns with his own eye-roll. "Okay, so fine," he admits, "maybe he was a little obvious."

"Try he-has-Ryan-as-his-screensaver obvious."

Jon tilts his head, giving him a look like, come on, be fair, you know he only has his Myspace page favorited. 

Spencer shrugs, and says, "Either way." 

"Do you think Ryan's interested in him?" 

"I don't know," he admits. "I hope so. They seem to get along well, but it's really hard to tell with Ryan. I tried to bring it up, but he just changes the subject. And I mean, one minute he's saying he doesn't want a boyfriend until he's thirty, and the next minute he's sending hearts to some guy on the internet." He scoots closer to Jon, and clambers onto his lap, arms sliding into a loose hold around his neck. "It'd be cute though. We could double date."

Jon laughs, and nudges their noses together, lips hovering over his. "No nagging best friends," he adds.

Spencer thinks back to all the times over the past month where Ryan's bitched at him for hanging out with Jon, telling him that they never hang out anymore. He thinks about how Ryan just doesn't get it; that just because he doesn't want a boyfriend, doesn't mean Spencer feels the same.

He closes the gap between them, pecking Jon's lips and smiling. "Yeah," he agrees. "Perfect." 

*

"So, did you want to come early tomorrow with me and the guys to help set up and just hang out and shit before the show?" Jon asks, knee bouncing in the same way it has been for the past three days. Spencer notices the sooner Friday approaches, the faster his leg moves. 

He rests a hand across his knee, and the movement comes to an abrupt stop. Spencer smirks, and asks, "Is that what all the girlfriends do?"

Jon shrugs, smiling sheepishly. Spencer takes that as a yes.

Spencer has been to a 504plan show once before; back when they were still on the verge of being official and Spencer was that naïve, nobody kid that everyone expected to run away, tail tucked between his legs. Jon had invited him to go on their fourth date, and Spencer agreed, but not without dragging a reluctant Ryan along with him. While people had already begun to treat him differently at school, he felt almost like a celebrity the way everyone looked at him and whispered to their friends. When Jon had grabbed onto the mic before launching into their last song, announcing in a low, sultry voice, "This is for a very special someone here tonight, Mr. Spencer Smith," he swore every eye in that room turned to him in envy. Afterwards, Brendon and his posse spit out a few vicious words, and continued to hip-check him so hard he would've went flying into the mosh pit if it weren't for Ryan holding onto him. However, that quickly turned irrelevant and unimportant, completely slipping his mind when Jon kissed him after the show and asked, head ducked and cheeks pink, "So, I was thinking that maybe you could uh, be my boyfriend, yeah?" 

This is the first show since then, and Spencer feels almost as excited as Jon, because as much as he pretends he doesn't care about images or what people think about him, he knows he does. Because there's something about the fact that he's no longer that stupid sophomore, but instead he's Spencer Smith, Jon Walker's boyfriend. The hot bassist in that awesome band, Jon Walker. 

"I don't know," Spencer starts, hesitant. "I was actually thinking I'd meet up with this really hot guy I met at the gym last night."

"Oh. Well. Your loss I guess," he replies, shrugging. "I'm sure Brendon would love to go with me."

Spencer punches him in the arm. "You just had to go and ruin it, didn't you?" 

Jon laughs, batting his eyelashes in innocence, and leans in to peck him a kiss. 

Spencer hooks an arm around his neck, pulling him closer, and takes Jon's lip between his. He had always been against PDA, curling his nose at the couples grinding in the halls, but after he had gotten a Jon of his own, he found out just how hard it really was. 

"Holy fuck, don't you two ever stop?" A familiar voice complains. They pull apart as Ryan plops down onto the hard, cafeteria chair across from them, an unimpressed look on his face. 

Spencer wipes his mouth on the corner of his sleeve. "No, not really," he replies, cheeky. Jon rests a hand on his thigh, away from Ryan's scrutinizing gaze, rubbing his thumb along the denim. 

Ryan rolls his eyes, un-amused, and slumps back in his chair. 

"Don't you have class?" Spencer inquires, frowning.

"I could say the same about you," he retorts.

Spencer shrugs. What can he say? It was either getting balls thrown at his head in PE or hanging out with Jon on his free period. He chose hanging out with Jon. "Whatever. It's just gym." 

"And Math and English," he adds, matter-of-factly. "You're going to fail if you're not careful."

"Give me a break. I don't skip that much." And he doesn't; Ryan's just being his over-dramatic self, as usual. Spencer only skips a class or two a week, tops, and only when he knows they're not doing anything important, like watching a movie or going over a review. "Anyways, why aren't you in English?" 

Ryan shrugs, peering down at his lap, and mumbles something Spencer doesn't quite catch.

"What?"

"I said," he repeats, lifting his gaze to look across the room, avoiding Spencer's eyes, "I got kicked out." 

"What?" Spencer's eyes widen, bewildered, as he sits up in his chair. If there's one thing Ryan's good at, it's English. In fact, he is so good, that he lasted exactly one week into his freshman year before they bumped him up to the tenth grade Honours class. But it's not even just that, that makes it so surprising, it's the fact that Spencer is sure that in the past sixteen years of Ryan's life, he has not done a single bad thing ― with an exception of that one time in fifth grade when he called that girl a bitch; within reason though, of course, she was a fucking bitch. "What do you mean you got kicked out?" 

"I mean, I got kicked out," he repeats, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Jon remains silent at Spencer's side, continually running a soothing hand along his thigh. He asks, attempting to keep his voice reasonably calm and reassuring, "But why?" 

"I fell asleep." He shrugs, feigning indifference. Spencer's not stupid; he knows Ryan too well that he can see the uncomfortable strain across his face, the way his eyes jump across the room. He knows the signs when Ryan no longer wants to talk about something. 

When Spencer starts to ask why once more, Ryan cuts him off, eyes shifting. "I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately," he explains. 

Spencer inhales sharply, confusion quickly turning to concern. "Are you okay? Is it your ― " He falls short, remembering Jon's warm hand on his knee, and tries again, "Is everything okay at home?"

"What? Yeah," he answers hurriedly, discomfort clearly growing. "No," he shifts in his chair, scratching behind his ear, "it's nothing like that. It's nothing, I just haven't been going to bed when I should."

"Wha ― " Spencer starts, but Ryan interrupts him.

"Anyways, so what is it that you do when you skip class? Sit here and make-out for the entire school?"

Spencer sighs, but allows the subject change ― for now. He makes a mental note to touch back on it when they're alone. 

"Basically," Jon jokes, smug, moving his hand to wrap around the back of Spencer's neck. His fingers brush the ends of his hair, ghosting against his warm skin, and Spencer shivers.

Ryan scoffs. "I don't think anyone really enjoys watching you two suck face, by the way."

"Ryan," Spencer says tightly, and Ryan shoots him an icy stare, but keeps his mouth shut anyway. 

Jon clears his throat and shifts awkwardly, knee bumping against Spencer's. "So, um. What are you doing tomorrow night?" he asks in an attempt to lighten the mood between them.

"Hanging out with your boyfriend," he replies. "And no, you can't join." 

Jon quirks an eyebrow, and glances at Spencer in question.

"What ― " Spencer frowns, annoyed that Ryan would make plans without at first informing him, but then comes to an abrupt stop, realization hitting him. Shit. He blanches. He had promised Ryan they'd hang out; how could he have been so stupid?

"You forgot," Ryan states, gaze heavy. 

"I ― " Spencer swallows, caught. "I'm sorry," he rushes out. "It's just that it's Jon's show tomorrow night, and I had known about it forever and I guess ― I guess I just forgot when I made plans with you and then ― " He sighs, shooting Jon a helpless look. 

Ryan stares at him from across the table, eyes flat and disbelieving. "So, what? You're just going to ditch me for him again?" he demands, only acknowledging Jon with a sharp jerk of his chin. 

"Well, technically," Spencer starts slowly, lip pinched in between his teeth, "I did make plans with him first." 

Ryan scoffs. "You are un-fu ― "

"But," Spencer quickly interrupts, "you can come. Please come," he implores, eyes round and pleading. "We were going to ask you anyway, and then we can hang out after and have a sleepover like we planned. We can stay up all night. Just the two of us. I promise."

"I hate you," he mutters under his breath, but it lacks venom. 

"I love you," Spencer returns, batting his eyelashes. He sticks out his bottom lip, shooting him his best puppy-dog face. "Please come. Jon really wants you to come too. Right, Jon?" He shoots him a look, and Jon nods thoroughly. 

"Yes," he says. "Yes, I do." It's not his most convincing work, but Ryan doesn't seem to notice as he visibly begins to cave. 

Keeping a tight face, Ryan says, "You owe me."

Spencer nods, grinning, Jon's grip tightening on the back of his neck. 

"Awesome," Jon says, short, and Ryan looks down at the table. 

*

The following night the three of them show up at the venue together; the rest of the band, and the two others scheduled to play that night already arrived and setting up. The venue is fairly large, bigger than the last, with a good-sized stage, tables and couches scattered throughout the room, and a bar tucked into the corner. 

Jon glances around the room, nervous, as if he can already see the crowds of people flocking towards the stage. Spencer squeezes his arm comfortingly, and when Jon looks down, he smiles, the lines in his forehead relaxing. 

Tom's the first to notice them, eyes immediately landing on Ryan in pleasant surprise. "Ryan," he says, voice an octave higher than normal, "Hey. You're here. What are you doing here?" 

Ryan shrugs, indifferent, and points a curt thumb at Spencer in reply.

Tom nods like he understands, but if the lines between his eyes are anything to go by, he doesn't. "Oh. Well. Anyways, it's great that you're here." He scratches the light stubble on his chin, fidgeting awkwardly as he smiles. 

Ryan snorts, taking a sip of his Starbucks coffee they picked up on the way. "Whatever."

Spencer watches as Tom's face drops, and flinches. He can understand Ryan being a bitch to him, to Jon even, but to Tom, who's only ever been nice to him? That's a new form of low, even for Ryan. Sometimes, he would make things a lot easier if he wasn't so stubborn and pathetically clueless. 

"Oh. Um. Okay," he mumbles, tugging at his ear. Together, Jon and Spencer shoot him sympathizing looks while Ryan glances around the room, arms crossed and foot tapping against the linoleum, oblivious.

"Come on," Jon says, breaking the awkward silence. "Let's go help the guys set up." He turns to Spencer, pecking him a quick kiss, and Ryan scoffs under his breath. 

Spencer sucks in a breath while Jon rolls his eyes, annoyance read clearly across his face. When he speaks, his voice is high and forced, "How about you and Ryan just hang out here while we do? It shouldn't be long." He sends Spencer a look that says, talk to him or I will, and it will not be pretty. 

Spencer nods. "Okay, sure."

They take off, heading towards backstage, Tom lagging behind a few steps. Spencer waits until he can no longer see them before he turns to Ryan, demanding, "I get that you're pissed off at me, but will you stop being a complete and utter bitch to everyone else? Tom did nothing to you." 

Ryan drops his shoulders, sighing in a way that he knows Spencer is right. 

They find a seat on one of the couches near the stage, and Spencer sips on his coffee, before asking, casual as he can manage, "So, Tom's pretty cute, huh?" 

Ryan shrugs. "I guess. I don't know. I've never really noticed." He shoots Spencer a look, appearing scandalized, and Spencer can't tell if he's kidding or not. "Should you even be noticing? He's Jon's best friend." 

Spencer rolls his eyes. "It's just an observation." After all, Tom is pretty cute ― not as much as Jon, mind you, but then again, not a lot of people are. With blonde hair, blue eyes, stubble, and one simple, silver hoop through his nose, there's really not a whole lot not to like about him.

Ryan's quiet, and after a moment, Spencer adds, "I think he might be interested." 

"In what?"

"You."

Ryan stares at him like he's grown a second head, and shakes his head, laughing. "I don't think so."

"I think you should pay a little more attention then," he says, but then drops it. He knows how short Ryan's wire can be when it comes to these things; he's learned not to push too much at once. 

"Okay, whatever," he mumbles, eyes drifting towards the door in disinterest. 

Spencer sighs. This could take awhile. 

*

Halfway through the first band's set, Spencer realizes that he's lost Ryan. He feels a wave of dread wash over him, like a mother whose child had wandered away from her in a grocery store. Out of the dozens of shows they have been to together, they’ve never left each other's sides once. 

The room is packed from front to back, and Spencer can't see him anywhere amongst the crowd of sweating bodies. He thinks of five ways to kill Ryan once he finds him; not only does he have to worry about taming his boyfriend's nerves, but now he's also left anxiously hoping that his best friend hasn't been kidnapped and driven away in a white van. He's sure there are tons of pedophiles out there that prey on scrawny, sixteen year-old boys. 

Luckily, just as the first band's set is coming to an end, Ryan is brushing past him, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Spencer wraps an arm around his wrist, jerking him back, and Ryan jumps, startled. "Where the hell did you go?" he demands, loud enough over the heavy thump of the bass. It's then that he notices the short guy beside Ryan, with spiky, black hair and charcoaled eyes. It takes him a moment to realize it's the guy from the Myspace pictures, staring right back at him. 

Ryan blinks, looking like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Spencer can't tell if the pink shadow on his cheeks is from the heat of the room, or something entirely different. "Sorry," he says, sounding calmer then he appears. "I didn't think you'd notice." 

"Of course I would," Spence replies sharply, eyes drifting between Ryan and the Myspace-Guy. Reece? Peter? He can't remember. "You just disappeared." 

"Sorry," he says with an air of defiance. 

There's a lull between them as the band launches into their last song, and Spencer breaks the silence by saying, "So, are you going to introduce us or…" 

"Oh. Yeah. I guess so." Ryan looks vaguely uncomfortably as he moves to the side, allowing the guy to step forward. "This is Pete. Pete, this is Spencer and his boyfriend, Jon." 

"Nice to meet you," Pete says, extending his hand for Spencer to take. Now that he's out of the shadows, Spencer can see that despite his height he looks older than the two of them, older than Jon even. 

He shakes his hand regardless of the thin layer of unease wrapping around him, and forces a smile. "You too."

Jon shakes his hand next, nodding in acknowledgment, but unlike Spencer, he doesn't try to hide his own uncertainty. Without skipping a beat, he asks, "How old are you?" 

Pete laughs, an anxious edge to it as he sneaks a glance at Ryan, who now has his face in his hands, groaning. "Uh, twenty."

Jon's eyebrow shoots up. "Twenty with a sixteen year-old?" 

Ryan glares at him, cheeks flaming. "Jon," he hisses through a clenched jaw. "Shut up and mind your own business." 

Flicking his eyes toward Ryan, a mixture of guilt and apprehension take over his expression. A moment passes, and softly, he says, "I'm just looking out for you." 

"Well, I don't need you to, okay? Save that for Spencer; he's your boyfriend, not me," he snaps, and grabs onto Pete's arm, tugging. "Come on, let's go. Just ignore them."

Pete allows himself to be pulled along, and he waves a hand, corner of his mouth twisted up. 

Spencer watches as Jon's lip purse, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Wrapping a hand around his bicep, Spencer says, "That wasn't really necessary. Ryan knows what he's doing."

Jon keeps his eyes on them until they disappear through the crowd, and then brings his gaze to Spencer, eyes softening. In the corner, however, Spencer can still see the faintest hint of suspicion. "Are you sure about that?" he asks. 

"Yeah, I'm sure," Spencer replies dryly, rolling his eyes. "He's only been my best friend for ten years. I think I'd know."

Jon shrugs, still appearing unconvinced. "He's still twenty and hanging out with a sixteen year-old boy. That usually only means one thing."

"Stop," Spencer says, standing up on his tippy-toes to look Jon in the eye. "Even if that is true it doesn't mean Ryan's going to let it happen. He knows better than that. He's not naïve."

"Still," Jon says, jaw tight, "he seems sketchy to me."

Spencer laughs, nudging his nose against Jon's neck. "It's fine," he insists. "Trust me." 

Jon shrugs, but drops it anyway.

"Thanks for caring though," he murmurs, kissing his jaw. "It's sweet. I mean, I know he gets on your nerves sometimes."

"I like him."

Spencer smiles. "I never said you didn't."

Jon shrugs, eyes drifting towards the front of the room where the band is saying their last thank you's before heading off stage. His face pales as the lights come on, as if reminded where is and why he's here. 504plan is on last, and Jon has spent the last week trying to figure out if that's good or bad. 

"Relax. You'll be awesome," Spencer insists for the tenth time that night. "All you have to do is go out there and play like you always do, and look hot… like you always do."

Jon laughs, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He bends down, brushing his lips against Spencer's. "You," he murmurs fondly, hand brushing along his bare hip where his t-shirt rides up.

"Me," he confirms, smiling, and kisses him back. 

*

Sure enough, Jon isn't even gone a total of five minutes before Brendon and his posse are at his side, sneering in their matching American Apparel v-neck’s and skinny jeans. They each have a plastic cup full of beer in their hands, and Spencer can only imagine what they did to manage that. 

"Well, don't you just look lovely tonight," Brendon drawls in a searing tone. 

As a matter of fact, Spencer knows he does. He put a lot of effort into getting ready tonight, more than he does for school, spending extra time to flat-iron his hair and arrange the perfect outfit that he had bought specifically for this occasion. He even let Ryan put a touch of eyeliner on him ― a job he doesn't take lightly. When Jon picked them up, his eyes had lingered over him a bit longer than usual, words stunted and mouth parted. Spencer knows he looks good, and he's not going to let Brendon Urie make him think any differently. 

"Thanks, Brendon." Spencer forces a large, sickeningly sweet smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "Jon thought so too."

Brendon scowls while Spencer's smile turns smug. Behind Brendon, Jack pipes up, "So, like, where'd your mom get your clothes from? K-Mart?" He shoots him a glare, but the corners of his lips are turned up, clearly pleased with himself. 

Spencer snickers as Brendon whips around, snapping, "Oh my god, Jack. Shut the fuck up. What did I tell you about talking?" 

He snaps his mouth shut, expression falling, but when Brendon turns back around to face Spencer, he shoots daggers to his back. "Anyway," Brendon says, taking a leisurely sip of his beer as he looks up at the stage in thought, "I wonder which song Jon wrote for me they'll play tonight. Probably all four." His eyes flick to Spencer, and he smiles haughtily. "How many songs has Jon written for you, Spencer?"

Spencer presses his lips together, chest flaring with heat. "They're in progress," he spits.

Brendon snorts, doubtful, Jack and William mirroring the action from behind. For a brief moment, Spencer toys with the idea of grabbing the cup from Brendon's hand and pouring it all over his head. 

"Anyways, I'd love to stay and chat but I actually have to go and watch my boyfriend perform now," Spencer says instead, shooting them one last, scornful look before turning his back on them and disappearing through the crowd. 

The lights are on in between sets, making the task of finding Ryan slightly easier, but it still takes over five minutes as he pushes through mazes of sweaty teenagers. Spencer passes a couple in the middle of a full-out make out session, pressed into the corner of one of the couches. He pulls a face of disgust; because while Jon and him tend to have their share of PDA ― including the ten minutes they just spent in the corner of the room before Jon went on stage ― at least it's not on a couch with at least five other people piled on. He's three feet past before he instantly stops and does a double take, the grey jacket on the body pressed against the arm of the couch nauseatingly familiar. Spencer inches closer, squinting, and ― holy shit. Yeah. That's Ryan, all right.

Just then the lights dim, and the crowd erupts as they swarm towards the stage. Spencer's torn between staring at Ryan in shock, lips locked with Pete, or moving towards the stage with the rest of them as his boyfriend comes out, bass strapped across his shoulder. Spencer feels a little nauseous to say the very least, like that time he woke up in the middle of the night to hear some very suspicious noises coming from his parents bedroom. Never in his life has he ever seen Ryan hug a guy who wasn't him, never mind have some twenty year-old strangers tongue shoved down his throat in the middle of a crowded venue. 

He needs a drink. 

"How's everyone doing tonight?" Sean, the lead singer, yells out over the crowd. 

There's some screams, and a "fucking awesome, man!" that comes from a guy on the opposite end of the couch from Ryan. Spencer pulls his gaze over to Jon, who's scanning the crowd, eyes squinted through the light, presumably searching for him. He appears even more nervous now, but his pale skin can easily be written off as the stage lights. Spencer wishes he was beside him, squeezing his arm and reminding him that he'll be fantastic.

With one last glance at Ryan, he pushes himself through the crowd. It takes him almost two full songs to get through it, and a few incidental elbows in the back, but he finally makes it to the stage, over on Jon's side. It's not until the end of the song before Jon's eyes happen to sweep over him, and he grins instantly, turning a peg on his bass. He looks exceptionally less nervous now, and Spencer prides himself in this, even if it has nothing to do with him at all.

He smiles back, something light and fluttery inside his chest. Sometimes, he feels silly and stupid and just like a twelve year-old girl with the way Jon makes him feel ― but most of the time, he just feels happy.

Jon keeps his eyes on Spencer, only breaking when Tom crosses over to his side of the stage, whispering something into his ear. Jon's forehead wrinkles when Tom pulls back, and shoots him a put-off expression. Tom nods, appearing wounded, and moves back to his side of the stage, fingers still strumming methodically against his guitar. 

When Jon drops his gaze back down to Spencer, he mouths, "Ryan." Spencer makes an 'o' with his mouth in recognition. Of course Tom would manage to spot Ryan out of the multitudes of people, pushed into the corner of a couch with some sketchy guy’s tongue down his throat. 

The song comes to an end, and Jon makes a face as if suddenly realizing he's supposed to be doing something. He looks at Spencer almost shyly before he moves over to where Sean stands, leaning into the microphone as the drummer launches into a soft, more morose beat on his drum-kit. "So, this is a new song called, 'Shades of Blue.'" He gives Spencer a sidelong glance, smiling. "Spencer Smith, this is for you." 

Somewhere in the room, Brendon is turning five shades of green and ripping his shirt from his chest. Spencer smirks smugly, stomach fluttering. 

It's weird hearing Jon's words written for him, sung by somebody else, someone he barely knows, but Jon keeps his eyes on him the entire time, mouthing along to the words, and Spencer soon forgets about it. He's not stupid, and he's certainly not naïve and delusional like the other kids in his grade; the ones who claim their in love after a couple months. But there's something in the tingling under his skin and the flaring in his chest that makes him think he's heading down the right road, anyway. 

By the time the songs over, Spencer's forgotten all about Ryan. 

*

Spencer allows Ryan to get off exactly one shoe before he's cocking his hip and raising an eyebrow. "So," he starts in an accusatory tone, "I saw you and Pete all cozy on the couch. As I'm sure the rest of the world did." And yes, he's judging. He is so fucking judging. 

Spencer watches the muscles in Ryan's neck tighten under the dimmed hallway light. He kicks off his other shoe, muttering, "I don't need your judgment, Spencer." He stands up straight, looking him in the eye as Spencer toes off his own shoes. "Plus, don't be such a hypocrite. I can recall you making out with Jon in his car on the first date."

"That was completely different!" he snaps, voice raised until he remembers his entire household is asleep. Lowering it, he repeats, "so different."

Ryan scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "How?"

"First of all," Spencer lists as he backs up the stairs, looking at Ryan and flicking off the light, "I at least met Jon before our first date. He wasn't just some guy I picked up on the internet." Ryan's face pulls tight, eyes flaring, but Spencer continues on anyway, defiant, "Second of all, he wasn't twenty, and third of all, a few kisses in a car is a bit different than dry-humping while surrounded by a shit load of people at a show."

"You're so unbelievable!" Ryan seethes once Spencer closes his bedroom door behind them. "I'm so sorry he's not perfect like your boyfriend," he spits, sarcasm sharp and hitting the bone like venom. "I'm so sorry he doesn't write cutesy, little love songs for me or drive me around all day or answer to my goddamn beck and call." He stops, cheeks red from anger as he rips his jacket off his shoulders, rolling his eyes in disdain. "So sorry for being interested in someone who isn't as wonderful and awesome and fucking perfect as Jon Walker." 

Spencer blinks, feeling the blood curl in his veins as he searches his brain for a comeback. He falls short, Ryan beating him to it. "It's like you think you're so goddamn great ever since Jon came into the picture. Like you can just look down at everyone because they're not dating some hot senior in a band, and I'll tell you, it's getting really old."

"That's not true," Spencer says defensively, heat creeping up the back of his neck and burning in patches across his cheeks. 

Ryan scoffs, popping the button off his jeans and shimmies them down his hips. The mattress is already blown-up and made-up on the floor next to his bed, and Spencer feels a rush of gratitude for his mom, knowing there's no way in hell he'd be jumping to do that for Ryan now. 

He doesn't get how it went from Ryan slutting it up in public to a personal attack on Spencer ― a very untrue one, at that. Not once has it ever crossed his mind that he's better than anyone ― Jon or not. And even if he did, Brendon would surely be there a moment later, bringing him crashing back down to reality at a very high impact rate, anyway. 

"Whatever, Spencer. All I'm saying is that I wasn't too fond of Jon in the beginning either but I kept my mouth shut and was happy for you because you were happy." He kicks his pants off the rest of the way, leaving him in only his boxers, and crawls into the bed, slipping underneath the covers. "Because that's what friends do. Not attack them for finding someone that's actually interested in them for once."

"You were not," Spencer argues, still by his door and fully clothed. "You told me guys like Jon only go after younger kids for sex. That he didn't actually like me." 

"I did not, and you know it," Ryan defends, voice rising, but he stays lying, face turned towards the wall. "I warned you, that's it. I told you to be careful. I didn't jump down your neck and call you a slut."

"I didn't call you a slut!"

"Yeah, well, you might as well have."

Spencer wait's a beat, heart pounding with adrenaline. It's not that him and Ryan fighting is anything new, they've been doing it on a regular basis since they were six years old, but this is different than most, digging a little deeper, uncovering things that he didn't know where hiding under the surface. When Spencer speaks, it's slow and deliberate with bite, "Are you jealous, Ryan?" 

Ryan's body tenses from underneath the covers, and there's a long silence, the only sound between them being the struggled breath pouring from Spencer's mouth. Finally, Ryan sits up, eyes flashing and drawn tight as he looks at him over his nose. If Spencer knows one thing, it's how Ryan looks when he's furious, livid; it's the look he gave Michael Waterman before he punched him in the nose after months of teasing, and this ― well, this is it all right. 

A wave of regret washes over Spencer, but he quickly pushes it away and stands straighter, chest puffed out as he glares challengingly back at Ryan. "Is that why you were so quick to jump to Pete? Whatever happened to all that shit about you not needing a boyfriend? Not wanting one? And suddenly, now that you're the only one without one, you run to the closest thing?" 

"Fuck you," he spits, slow, pronouncing every syllable with a tense jaw. He grabs a fistful of comforters, clenching until his knuckles turn white. "This is exactly what I mean. You're so caught up in yourself and Jon that you can't wrap your head around the fact that it isn't always about you. That Pete has absolutely nothing to do with you and your little relationship. Jon's not God, and not everyone in the world wants to date him. I think you need to get that through your thick fucking head." Ryan keeps his voice low and incisive, and in a way, Spencer thinks it cuts way deeper than yelling ever would. "The world doesn't revolve around the two of you, as much as you'd like to think." 

"I don't," he says, lamely, cheeks burning. 

Ryan rolls his eyes, scoffing. "Whatever," he says, pulling the blanket over his head, "I'm done with this conversation. I'm going to bed."

Spencer stands there, replaying Ryan’s words over in his head until the blood leaves his face. Slowly, he pulls off his shirt and jeans, leaving them in a pile by his door. Flicking off the lights, he slides into his own bed. 

He lays awake for a long time, listening to the sounds of Ryan's heavy breathing next to him, knowing he's not the only one up and conscious.

It takes him fifteen minutes to realize what he’d known all along. He lost from the beginning.

*

Spencer wakes up to Ryan, fully dressed, taking the air out of the already bare mattress, and sunlight pouring in through the curtains. He sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Ryan doesn't look up.

He was already beginning to figure it out last night, but now that he’s slept it off, regret crashes into him, enveloping him like a bad dream. Regardless of the fact that it was in the middle of a crowded room of strangers, it was still, more or less, Ryan’s first kiss. He should’ve been happy for him, teasing him until he turned red. He should’ve asked for details, just like Ryan had done for him the first time Jon kissed him. 

Clearing his throat, Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He always hates this part. "You leaving?" 

"Yeah," he replies, short, still not looking up as he folds the mattress in half. 

"Look," he starts carefully, running his hand through his sleep-tousled hair, "I'm sorry about last night. I was a dick." 

"Yeah, you were," he agrees tightly, but he stands up this time, hip cocked and meeting his eye. 

Spencer purses his lips together, hanging his head in shame. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Ryan shrugs. "It's okay, I guess," he says, but it seems a little off. 

"So, um. Wanna start this over again where we flail and giggle like little girls while you tell me about how awesome your first make-out session was?" 

Ryan laughs softly, eyes drifting. "It was good."

Spencer looks up at him, and blinks. "Just good?" he echoes. 

Ryan shrugs again, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess so. I don't know."

Spencer sighs, and reluctantly drops it. He knows it's only a matter of time before Ryan cracks, and gushes about it to Spencer himself. He gives it a day. Tops.

"Anyways," Ryan says, tucking a strand of curls behind his ear, "I guess I better get going." 

"Why don't you stay?" Spencer suggests. "I mean, we didn't really get to hang out or do anything like we planned. We can make waffles and watch cartoons." 

Ryan's face pulls together in thought, taking this into consideration. He looks torn for a moment, but then he's shaking his head, saying, "No. Sorry, I gotta go. I told my dad I'd be home early." 

Spencer knows Ryan's lying; that nine times out of ten him and his dad don't communicate more than a simple, "Good morning," or "Good night," or "Nice day today," when passing in the hallway. He keeps his mouth shut though, resigned, knowing he probably deserves it, after all. "Oh, all right. I guess another time then." 

"Sure. Yeah," he replies noncommittally, already at the doorway. "I'll see you Monday." No I'll call you later, or maybe we can hang out tomorrow. Just one simple, 'I'll see you Monday,' like Spencer does to acquaintances or teachers at school when he passes on the way out on Friday's. He pushes the uneasy feeling to the pit of his stomach, reminding himself that by tonight, it'll all be blown over and forgotten about. Ryan will be calling him, complaining in his usual, monotone voice over how bored he is, and then he'll get mad when Spencer has to get off because Jon is calling on the other line.

"Yeah. See ya."

He raises his arm in the air for one, short wave, and disappears out the door. 

Spencer waits until he hears Ryan's muffled calls of 'goodbye' and 'thank you' to his parents, and the sound of the door slamming shut before he retrieves his phone from his nightstand and dials Jon's number. 

*

Turns out, it doesn't blow over and Ryan doesn't let it go. As the next week drags on, he acts closed off, cold even. No matter how many times Spencer apologizes, pushes and asks what's wrong, he shrugs him off, insisting, "I'm fine, Spencer. Really. I'm not mad." Spencer doesn't buy it for a second. 

On Wednesday, when Spencer asks if he wants to hang out and go to a movie, he shakes his head, declining. "Sorry," he says, forking ravioli into his mouth. "I have plans." 

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "Plans? With who? Brent?" 

"No, not with Brent," he replies a bit sharply. 

"Then who?" 

"Pete."

"Pete?" he repeats, forehead wrinkling. "Like a date?"

Ryan shrugs, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Have you seen him since Saturday?" 

"Yeah," he says, attempting to appear aloof, like it's no big deal, but Spencer can see right through it. "Everyday since."

Spencer waits a beat, and takes a deep breath, remembering the sensitivity of the subject. He doesn't need to push Ryan's buttons any further, making him even more distant. "Really? Is it serious?"

Ryan shrugs, still avoiding Spencer's gaze. "I don't know. Maybe." 

"Do you like him?"

Ryan bites down onto his thumbnail, the corner of his lips turning up before he quickly pushes them back down. "Yeah," he replies quietly. 

Spencer's eyes flick over him, taking in the blush on the tips of his cheeks, faint but still very much there. He shifts uncomfortably underneath Spencer's gaze, and takes a small bite of his ravioli. "Good. That's good," Spencer says, and he means it. Mostly. 

Ryan purses his lips together, and says nothing. 

"Just - " Spencer starts carefully, "just be careful."

He rolls his eyes. "Thanks, Spencer. I know that."

"I'm just saying," he reasons, "I don't want you to get hurt, that's all."

"I won't," he replies, tight around the edges, rolling his shoulders and looking past Spencer's head, across the cafeteria. "Pete wouldn't hurt me." There's a pause, and Spencer keeps his mouth shut. Don't push, don't push, he reminds himself. "Plus," he adds, "I'm not stupid. I know what I'm doing. I can take my own advice."

"Okay," Spencer says softly, and then drops it, leading them into silence. 

He knows that as Ryan's best friend, he should be giving Pete a chance. Four years difference isn't even that bad, and most of the time, Ryan can be pretty mature for his age. The least he could do is try to get to know Pete instead of basing it off the few, brief moments they had met at a crowded concert. Ryan knows what he's doing, and there must be a reason he likes Pete, right? 

"Um. So," he clears his throat, trying to decide where to begin, "I was thinking maybe me, you and Pete could like, hang out? Even just for a little while."

Ryan raises a skeptical eyebrow. "What?"

Spencer shrugs, attempting to appear casual. "Well, I don't know. I was just thinking that maybe I was too quick to jump on him, that maybe I should get to know him first, you know?" 

"Wouldn't that be kind of weird?"

"I don't see why. It's no different than when you hung out with me and Jon when we first started dating."

"Uh. It actually kind of is," Ryan argues stiffly, "considering I wasn't an asshole to Jon when I first met him."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I wasn't an asshole to him," he defends. "Skeptical, but not an asshole."

"Well, your boyfriend was."

Spencer shoots him a look, and Ryan stares back, unmoving. "Ryan, come on." He sighs. "I'm making an effort here. I want to like him."

Ryan looks down at his food, quiet, and Spencer knows he's caught him. "Fine," he says, dragging out a long breath in defeat. "I'll talk to Pete about it."

Spencer smiles, victorious. "Good, that's all I wanted."

Ryan looks at him, long and hesitant, sighing under his breath. "I'm so going to regret this," he says, shaking his head. 

"I hope not," he replies. Ryan looks away, swallowing, and they fall into another silence. 

They don't talk for the remainder of the lunch.

*

Five minutes before he's out the door to meet up with Pete and Ryan the following day, he gets a call from Ryan. 

"So," he starts, a slow and regretful tone to it, and Spencer already knows what he's going to say. "I think I'm going to have to call off us hanging out tonight."

"What?" Spencer asks, trying not to grip his phone too tight inside his hand. He mostly fails. "Why?" 

There's a pause on the other end before Ryan's clearing his throat. "We kind of wanted to hang out just the two of us tonight."

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asks a bit too forcefully, shoulders tensing in frustration. "It's only a few hours, and you've been hanging out every single day."

"Well," he starts, hesitantly, then stops. "Pete thinks it'd be weird," he admits, and Spencer draws in his breath, forcing himself not to freak out like he really, really wants to.

Gaining his composure, he says, "Ryan, are you kidding me right now?" 

"No. Look, Spence ― "

"How can you expect me to like a guy who doesn't even want to make an effort to get to know me? Your best friend."

There's another pause on Ryan's end, longer this time, and Spencer wonders if he's with Pete right now. "Have you really given him any reason to?" he replies, suddenly sharp. 

"Ryan, you've got to be ― "

"I gotta go."

"Ryan ― " 

"Bye, Spencer," he interrupts. "See you tomorrow."

"Ryan," he tries again, incredulous, but he's already hung up.

*

Pissed off, Spencer does the first thing he can think of and goes to Jon's. 

He calls him on the way there and explains the story, clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white. "I just can't sit at home and think about this or I'll snap."

Jon makes a tutting sound from the back of his throat, and then finishes with a sigh, saying nothing else about it. "Yeah. Um, sure, you can come over," he replies slowly, and Spencer can hear some murmuring in the background as he pauses. "Tom's here though, if that's all right."

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll see you in about ten," he says, and waits until Jon says his goodbyes before clicking off. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he kicks a rock the rest of the way, trying not to think about Ryan. 

He doesn't know if he was lying, not wanting the three of them to hang out together, or if it really was Pete. In a way, he hopes it is the former because he wants to like his best friend’s possible, future boyfriend, but this definitely doesn't do anything to help the case. He was hoping tonight he'd be able to cast away any bad feelings he had for Pete. He knows Ryan's smart about these things, but Spencer also knows what older guys are like when going after high school kids; he's heard the stories. He doesn't want Ryan to get hurt, but maybe that is just him being an over-protective friend again. Maybe he needs to learn to step back and take a breath, and let Ryan do what he wants. 

Tom and Jon are in the living room playing videogames when Spencer arrives. Neither of them takes their eyes off the screen, or their hands off the controller as they greet him with distracted hellos. Spencer sits down on the couch next to Jon, folding his legs underneath him. Tom sits on the floor below, steering the plastic wheel. 

Jon ends up winning the race, pumping his fist in the air and chanting, "Who's the man?! I am the fucking man! Thanks for buying me lunch for the rest of the week, by the way."

Tom turns to him and scowls. "Fuck you."

Jon holds up his hands, feigning innocence. "Hey man, I won fair and square. Not my fault you suck."

"I always win! You're the one that sucks."

"Maybe I was hiding my awesome Mario Kart abilities from you, so I could sneak-attack you like this," Jon suggests, grinning wickedly. 

Tom blinks. "We're no longer friends."

"Eh. Oh well," Jon shrugs, teasingly, "at least I got free lunches out of it." He turns to Spencer, and pecks him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry," he murmurs. "I'll share with you."

Spencer rolls his eyes, but laughs, shooting Tom a sympathizing glance. 

"Why do we hang out with this asshole?" Tom asks, jerking a thumb in Jon's direction. 

"Beats me." Spencer shrugs. "I think it's a pity thing."

"Hey," Jon cries, pouting. "No fair."

Spencer lets out a long breath, looking over him as if reconsidering. "Well, fine," he says, pushing a hand through Jon’s fringe, "maybe it's because you're kind of cute too." Jon bats his hand away, rolling his eyes, but underneath his scruff, Spencer can see the softest shade of pink. 

Tom strokes his chin, taking his turn to look over Jon with contemplation. "Nah," he concludes after a moment. "It's all pity."

Spencer laughs as Jon pouts. "You guys suck."

"Aw, baby," Spencer teases, leaning forward to peck a kiss on the corner of his mouth before taking the controller from his lap. "I'll show you who the Mario Kart champion is," he says to Tom, challengingly. 

Quirking an eyebrow, he grins. "You're on."

With no surprise to Spencer, he beats Tom twice in a row before moving onto Jon, winning three to one. He didn’t mean it lightly when he said he was the champion. 

"Shit," Jon curses, throwing the controller against the cushion in defeat. Tom laughs and puts his hand up for Spencer to smack, grinning ear to ear. "You know, I just let you win," Jon informs him. "You know, since it's the chivalrous thing to do." 

Spencer and Tom roll their eyes simultaneously, and Tom says, "Whatever, Walker. I think I should be buying your boyfriend lunch now."

Jon makes a face. "Uh-uh! We shook on it."

Tom sighs in defeat. "You deserve it," he tells Spencer. "You've got some mad skill, not like this amateur." 

Spencer grins, bowing. "Thank you. Thank you."

"I guess he is kind of awesome," Jon allows, poking him in the rib. "Maybe I should like, make him my boyfriend or something."

Spencer rolls his eyes, chuckling. "Maybe."

Jon switches on the TV, and skips through the channels until he lands on an episode of The Real World. Spencer's not at all surprised when not even five minutes later, Tom's asking how Ryan is. If anything, he's surprised it wasn't sooner. 

"He's, um," he starts, a sudden rush of frustration returning as he's reminded of earlier, "he's good, I guess."

"Is he seeing that guy that was at our show on Friday?" 

Spencer sneaks a glance at Jon, not really wanting to be the one to break his heart, but Jon looks away. Traitor. "Um, yeah, I think so."

"Oh," he says, face sinking, and Spencer instantly wishes he could take it back and replace it with a lie. "Does he, like ― is he ― I mean, Jon said he's older."

"I actually don't really know a whole lot," Spencer admits, biting onto his lip. "It's kind of a touchy subject with us ever since Friday."

"Oh." Tom frowns, and even though it's not his fault, Spencer feels horrible. "But if he, uh ― turns out to be an asshole, I'll be kicking his ass," Tom informs, and ducks his head, bashful.

"Me too," Jon agrees.

Spencer sends them both a grateful smile, even though he highly doubts either one of them have come close to hitting someone. They may pretend they're manly with their beards and talk, but Spencer knows they're really just giant softies on the inside. 

"I think it'll be okay," Spencer says after a moment. "I mean, I don't know Pete but I know Ryan, and I know he's smart about these things."

Tom and Jon look at each other, exchanging unsure glances, neither of them speaking. 

Spencer realizes that for the first time, he's not so sure either.

*

That Saturday, Spencer's mom informs him ― not asks, not suggests, just merely informs ― that Jon must stay for dinner the following night. "I've only ever seen the back of that boy's head or his car as he drives off, the way you usher him out of here so fast," she scolds, folding a pair of pajama pants and puts them into the laundry basket. His dad sits on the couch next to her, screaming at the football game on the television. A shirt sits folded on his lap, giving the illusion that he's helping when really, it's the same one that's been there for the past ten minutes. 

His dad is one of those men that eat, sleep and dream football. He had been on a team back in college until a continuous line of concussions and knee injuries forced him to stop. Up until the age of thirteen, he had tried everything to make Spencer into a jock like him. He enrolled in various sports teams ― football, baseball, soccer, the list goes on ― insisting that with just a little more perseverance and will-power, he'd be the best that was out there. Finally, when Spencer was sure he couldn't handle it any longer, his dad finally accepted that his five year-old sisters could throw a ball better than him ― and were probably manlier too. He admires his dad for trying though, but mostly he just feels sorry for him. 

"He's been coming around for over a month now, and we still haven't even gotten to properly interrogate him or embarrass you yet," she continues. "Why do you think we haven't sold you yet? It's because I knew this day was coming. It's the whole purpose of being a parent." 

"It's true," his dad confirms, eyes on the television.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "What do you call what you guys did the first five times he was here? Why do you think he hasn't stepped foot in this house since?" He consciously decides to leave out the part where Jon comes over after school and at lunch sometimes while they're still at work – as he always will, at least as long as he still feels like breathing. 

"Oh that?" his mom tuts, waving her hand in the air. "That was nothing. Merely a preview."

"Well, if that was preview then he sure as hell isn't coming for dinner." Knowing his parents, Jon would probably end up hooked up on a lie detector by the end of the night. Sometimes, he really wishes he wasn't the oldest. That, or his parents weren't so psychotic. ("They just care about you," Ryan insists, and that may be true, but Spencer has to draw a line somewhere).

"Spencer James," she warns, turning to shoot him her 'I-mean-business' stare, his t-shirt limp in her arm, "it's either tomorrow night, for dessert if he can't make dinner, or you are never stepping out of that door to see him until you do." His dad even looks up from the game, a mirroring expression on his face as he nods in agreement. 

Spencer knows she doesn't actually mean it, that they wouldn't stop him from seeing Jon ― even if she could, mind you ― but even so, he knows he has no choice. 

Outside, Jon honks his horn.

"It'll probably be better this way, anyway," Spencer's dad says once he has his shoes on, hand on the doorknob. Spencer raises a questioning eyebrow, and he elaborates, "The sex talk I was going to give you would probably be better with the two of you there."

His mom chuckles, knocking him over the head with a sock as she says, "Oh, James." All the while, he keeps an alarmingly straight face. 

"I. Hate. You. So hard." Spencer glowers.

"Okay, bye sweetie! Be home by eleven!" his mom calls sweetly, just before the door slams shut behind him. 

It's times like this when Spencer's certain he was adopted. There is no way he came from two life forms as evil as his parents. 

"FYI," Spencer says as soon as he's in Jon's car, "You're coming over for dinner tomorrow. Parents’ orders."

Jon cocks an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?" he asks, leaning in for a kiss.

"Mhm." He leans in the rest of the way, meeting Jon's lips over the console, his stubble scratching against his chin. During the first week or so that they started dating, Spencer walked around with a permanent rash around his mouth from where Jon's beard would rub against his skin. It seems well adapted now, rough and tight and beard resistant. Which is a relief, because Spencer was really getting worried for awhile. After all, Jon's beard is fucking hot, and he would like it around as long as possible. 

Jon moves a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he makes a humming sound from the back of his throat. Spencer smiles, and momentarily kisses him back before pulling away. Jon's lips automatically follow, blindly reaching for his. He pouts when he opens his eyes to see Spencer sitting back in his own seat, shaking his head and smiling in amusement. 

"Sorry," he apologizes, "but knowing my parents, they're probably looking through the window at us with binoculars."

Sitting back in his chair, Jon chuckles and slides the transmission into drive, backing out of the driveway. "Good call then." He reaches his hand out, nudging Spencer's leg until he gets the hint and slides his own hand inside. It still amazes Spencer what he's been missing the entire time, from the hand-holding, to kissing at red lights, to the butterflies he gets when Jon looks at him, to just know that he's there; that he's all his.

"I was thinking we could just go to my house," Jon says, running his knuckle along Spencer's. "My parents will be gone until late tonight, and my brother is home but he has a girl over, so basically, we stay out of his way and he stays out of ours. Plus, he'll probably be downstairs in the basement, so we can just hang out in my room and watch a movie or whatever." He sneaks a sideways glance at Spencer, smirking suggestively. 

Spencer rolls his eyes, feeling his heart pick up in his chest. "Okay, sure," he agrees, and Jon smiles, pleased. 

"Anyway, tomorrow."

Spencer groans, temple throbbing as he relives the past ten, excruciating minutes of his life. "Yes. My parents want you to come over so they can 'interrogate you and embarrass me.'" 

Jon makes a face, forehead scrunched together. "Haven't they already interrogated me enough though?"

"That's what I said."

"Your dad kind of scares me," he admits, uneasy.

"He's not that bad," Spencer reasons.

"He hates me because I don't play sports."

"He hates me because I don't play sports," he counters, and Jon laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. He wait's a beat, then says, "They also said they want to give us the sex talk."

Jon turns to stare at him, shooting him a horrified expression. "And they were kidding, right?" he asks, eyes checking the road before moving back to him. "Please tell me they were kidding."

"Well, I'd hope so," he replies, aghast. Even just the thought of it makes him feel like vomiting. "But with my parents, you never know."

"We haven't even talked about it," he points out. "There's no way I'm talking about it with your parents."

"We've talked about it," Spencer defends. Jon raises a skeptical eyebrow, and he sighs in defeat. "Basically," he corrects. 

Jon laughs, shaking his head as he turns onto his street.

"I'm a virgin who's not ready to have sex with you at this point in time. What else do you need to know?" 

"A virgin who bought condoms," he reminds.

"I told you! It's just in case." He huffs, face heating as he sinks lower in his seat, snatching his hand from Jon's. "Which you wouldn't have even known about if we hadn't suddenly stepped onto the set of Gossip Girl."

Jon laughs, pulling into his driveway and turns off the ignition. He leans forward, nudging his nose against Spencer's and brushes his lips against the corner of his pouting mouth. "Relax," he murmurs softly, squeezing his arm. "I was just kidding. You're not ready, and that's fine. I find it cute that you were being so responsible." 

Spencer turns and glares, but Jon kisses it off his face. He can feel his insides begin to melt, muscles relaxing under his touch. Spencer's kind of stupid about him, even if he's sometimes a dick and won't let the fact that he bought condoms go. 

"Come on, let's go inside," Jon says after a minute, prying his lips from Spencer's. 

He nods in agreement, breathing already a little stunted, and he would probably be embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that Jon's is too. Sometimes he wonders if it was like this with Brendon, if Jon treated him the same, but then he'll quickly push the thought to the back of his brain; banish it. He doesn't think he wants to know anyway. 

"We can even watch Moulin Rouge if you want. My mom has it."

"That's Ryan's favorite movie, not mine!" 

"Uh huh," he says, opening his car door, but by the amused look pulled on his face, he knows Jon doesn't believe him. 

Spencer glares at him through the windshield, and thinks that maybe he's always a dick, after all.

*

They end up watching Moulin Rouge. Or, well, at least the first ten minutes of it before they're making out, Spencer pinned beneath Jon and the mattress. 

Spencer's shirt is bunched halfway up his chest, and he keeps having to remove Jon's mouth from his neck. It's fairly safe to say that if he shows up with a giant hickey at dinner tomorrow, his parents will without a doubt be bringing up the dreaded sex talk. 

"So," Jon breathes, pulling back to look at Spencer with blown pupils. He looks thoroughly fucked, his hair a mess, and Spencer wonders what he looks like himself as a wave of arousal runs through him. "When you said you don't want to have sex, you meant just like, actual sex, not the other stuff too, right?" 

He swallows, stomach knotting. "Um. Yeah, I ― uh. I guess so," he mumbles, cheeks heating as Jon's hand slides up his belly, over his chest and back down, dipping his fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "Yeah. The other stuff ― Yeah, it's okay." He bites down onto the soft flesh of his bottom lip, shutting up the nervous rambles. 

Jon grins, the side of his mouth turned up crookedly, and he bends down, placing a wet kiss onto Spencer's mouth. Spencer skin flares up with heat wherever Jon's fingers trail, down to where he pops open a button of his jeans, undoing the fly. 

He breathes out heavily as Jon pulls away, swollen mouth hovering over his, eyes flicking across Spencer's in question, looking for further approval. Spencer nods while Jon runs a fingernail along the cotton of his underwear, his cock hard and straining against the fabric. He mewls, pressing up into his hand, and Jon smirks, arching his neck to kiss him.

Spencer lets out a soft whine as Jon removes his hand and sits up, tugging his shirt up and over his head. "I want your skin," he murmurs in explanation. Spencer nods, sitting up himself, and they remove his shirt together. 

Jon presses a line of feathered kisses along his shoulder and up his neck until he meets his lips. Nudging Spencer down, Jon cushions him against the pillows, hands returning to Spencer's waist, pushing his jeans down his hips. Spencer catches his wrist, and Jon looks up, eyes flickering across his questioningly. "Do you want me to stop?" 

Shaking his head, a thin strip of red appears across the bridge of his nose. "No, I just ― keep them on. I don't ― " he falters, gaze dropping from Jon's in embarrassment. He's not ready to be fully naked around someone yet, especially when it's Jon who's above him, dressed from the waist down. He's not self-conscious per se, not more than the average teenager at least, and he knows that in a matter of minutes Jon's going to have his hand around his cock anyway, but still. There's something about being completely naked and exposed that leaves him with an uneasy, churning feeling in the pit of his gut. 

Jon nods in understanding, and if he's laughing at him from the inside, his eyes give nothing away. He pushes his underwear down, fingers scraping against the coarse hair just above, and when he comes in contact with his head, making a loose fist around it, Spencer lets out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding. Jon chuckles, and bumps his forehead against Spencer's, kissing the corner of his parted mouth. "You okay?" 

Spencer nods as Jon pulls his hand away and reaches across the bed to his nightstand, retrieving a bottle of lotion. Spencer breathes a sigh of relief, because there's something seriously un-sexy and unromantic about spitting in your hand.

When his hand pushes back into Spencer's underwear, his grip moves easier, smoother. He savours the feeling, the rough glide of Jon's hand, much larger than his own, delighting in how different it feels when someone else is doing it; how much better.

Moving his mouth down, Jon sucks on the skin near his Adam's Apple, and Spencer forgets to tell him to stop as his fingers stroke along his length. Spencer knows it doesn't take much skill to give a hand job, especially if you have a dick of your own and have been satisfying yourself for years, but still, to Spencer, Jon is damn good. 

Jon pushes his underwear and jeans further down Spencer's hips, allowing himself more room and a better angle on his wrist. His mouth slides along his, kissing him wet and full as Spencer breathes heavily into his mouth, skin buzzing. A noise escapes from the back of his throat, desperate and needy, but his brain is too clouded to feel embarrassed about it. He can already feel the need for release building rapidly in his gut. 

God, he is such a pathetic virgin.

"Is it good?" Jon smiles cheekily after another, quieter noise escapes from Spencer.

He laughs breathlessly, and rolls his head back against the pillow, causing Jon's mouth to slip from his. "Yes," he pants. "So fucking good." 

Nibbling his ear, Jon smiles against his skin, hand picking up speed. "Just wait until the real thing," he murmurs. "You'll love it. Trust me."

"Fuck," Spencer chokes, grabbing onto Jon's bicep and brings his lips back to his. It's a sloppy kiss, their teeth knocking and lips scraping as Spencer gasps into his mouth, but it's fucking hot, anyway. "I'm close," he warns. 

Jon nods, and moves his other hand down to briefly cup his balls, running a teasing finger along the bottom of his shaft. All it takes is one final swipe along the tip with his thumb and Spencer's coming, cursing out Jon's name and gripping onto his biceps, digging his fingers into the smooth flesh. 

He kisses him through it as Spencer bucks into his hand, feeling the rough slide of his palm. Jon keeps their foreheads pressed together, Spencer's eyes slipped shut as he attempts to get his breathing back on track. Pecking him a kiss, Jon sits up and reaches for the tissues on the nightstand, wiping his hand and then Spencer’s belly. He tosses the soiled napkin into the wastebasket next to his bed, while Spencer tugs his underwear and jeans up his hips, tucking himself back in. 

"Um, thanks?" Spencer says lamely, gaze falling to where Jon's straining against his own jeans, his blood still boiling underneath his skin. "I, uh ― I guess I'll return the favor?" 

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"No." Spencer shakes his head, moving his hand to Jon's zipper. "No, I want to," he insists. He really does. "It's just ― I've never done it before. You know, to someone who isn't me. So, like. Sorry if it sucks."

Jon laughs, and kisses him. "I really doubt it'll suck."

Spencer shrugs, popping the button open on Jon's pants and pulls down the fly, fingers shaking. Jon says, words muffled into his mouth, "You don't have to worry about getting anything dirty." 

Heart picking up speed, Spencer slowly dips his fingers into the slit of Jon's underwear, brushing against the head of his cock. Allowing himself a moment, Spencer lets the fact that this is first cock he's ever touched beside his own roll through him. "You're really hard," he states, stupidly. 

Jon chuckles, stunted as a breath gets caught in his throat. "What can I say," he murmurs, warm breath dancing across his mouth, "watching you come is really fucking hot."

Spencer's cheeks heat as he reaches in the rest of the way, taking him into his hand and tugging him out. Jon feels different than him, heavier and thicker, cock flushed red around the tip. He swallows, and carefully begins to run his hand along his length, just as he would do to himself. Jon lets out a stuttered breath. 

"I'm not going to last long at all," he admits. He waits for a few more strokes of Spencer's hand before he's mumbling, "You're doing fine."

Spencer laughs nervously. "Yeah?"

Jon nods. "Yeah," he confirms.

Spencer bites his lip, confidence slowly beginning to grow as his hand picks up speed, setting a steady rhythm. A small grunt escapes from Jon's throat while he bucks into Spencer's fist. When he leans forward to kiss him, he misses his mouth, lips sliding wetly along his chin. Spencer shouldn't find it hot, but he does. Shit, does he ever. 

"Yeah," Jon breathes. "Yeah, I'm close."

Spencer nods in acknowledgment, sucking Jon's lip between his teeth, his scruff rubbing against his cheek. When he comes a few strokes later it catches Spencer off-guard, the hot, sticky mess covering his hands and Jon's boxers. 

Jon's warm breath runs over his lips and chin, and Spencer can feel the layer of spit begin to dry against his skin where his mouth had slipped. "Was it okay?" he asks after a minute, bumping his forehead against Jon's.

The corner of Jon's lips turn up into a lazy smile. "Yeah," he answers. "It was good. Don't worry."

"I mean, I know I'm no Brendon," Spencer teases, and he's only joking. Mostly.

Suddenly, Jon rolls off of him and onto his back. He closes his eyes and groans, his now flaccid cock still pulled out from the slit in his underwear. Spencer stares at it, amazed by the thought that only seconds ago, it was in his hand, full and hard. "Shit, please don't ever mention him post-orgasm again."

Spencer sits up on his elbow, and looks down at Jon sheepishly. "Sorry," he apologizes. 

Opening one eye, Jon makes a face and tucks himself back into his boxers despite the mess. He pulls Spencer on top of him, kissing him long and hard. "Stop thinking about him. Pretend he doesn't exist. What me and you have is a completely different thing," he says, and runs a hand along Spencer's bare stomach, thumb brushing against his hipbone. 

Spencer lowers his gaze, fiddling with a belt loop on Jon's jeans. "Sorry, I just ― " he shrugs, unsure, "sorry."

"Spencer," Jon says seriously, pulling back to meet his eye, "you're funny and gorgeous and smart. You don't care what anyone thinks about you, and you're the only one that didn't go running away because of my crazy ex ― and that has to count for something." Spencer can't help but smile as he ducks his head, cheeks coloring. "And, you know," Jon adds, smiling cheekily, "You're pretty great at giving hand jobs." 

Rolling his eyes, Spencer blushes deeper and knocks his fist against Jon's shoulder, but it lacks enthusiasm. 

Jon laughs, continuing, "You're awesome, seriously, and you need to stop comparing yourself to him." Spencer starts to deny it, but Jon cuts him off, saying, "You know you do," and Spencer snaps his mouth back shut, caught. 

So, maybe he does. Spencer can't deny that on more than one occasion he noted how much skinnier Brendon is than him. How much hotter; more popular. He's spent plenty of time comparing his ass, his mouth, his laugh, his fucking nose over the past month than he'd care to admit. He tries not to, he really does, it just ― happens sometimes. 

"It's hard, I guess," Spencer admits meekly.

"I'm with you. I like you," he insists, pecking his nose then the side of his lips. "If I wanted to be with Brendon, I would."

"I know," Spencer mumbles, growing increasingly embarrassed with every passing moment. "It's just ― " Spencer tails off, sighing. "Never mind." Sometimes he worries that Jon will suddenly realize it's Brendon that he wants to be with and promptly dump him on his ass, leaving him to deal with a broken heart and Brendon's smug, I told you so, for the rest of his life. Yeah, he worries about it a lot, but it's not something he'd ever admit to Jon. He's embarrassed enough as it is with this entire conversation; pulling the insecure, whiney boyfriend act. Spencer promised himself from the beginning that he wouldn't be that person, and he won't be. 

"I like you, okay?" Jon repeats, forcing Spencer to meet his gaze. "A lot, and I mean it. So just stop, okay? Please? Brendon's in the past, I don't have feelings for him anymore. I stopped awhile ago."

"Okay," Spencer replies, surrendering, heart fluttering lightly in his chest. He smiles, and curls himself under Jon's chin, lips brushing against his Adam's Apple. 

Jon wraps an arm around him, palm lying flat against his back. Spencer shivers, curling closer. He wait's a moment then says, voice lowered in whisper, "It's just ― I'm kind of stupid about you, you know."

Jon laughs, brushing his lips against his forehead. "Me too," he says, and Spencer grins.

*

The first thing Spencer does when he gets home is rush to his room to call Ryan. He already knows how it’s going to go; it’ll start with the usual lecture, followed by him teasingly (or not so teasingly, depending on his mood) calling him a slut. Then, after a few minutes of silence, Ryan will cave, and carefully ask, "So… how was it?" 

However, when he calls, he waits through five complete rings before it goes to voicemail. He hangs up, disappointed, and figures he must already be asleep. He was looking forward to telling him that at least one of them is no longer a complete and hopeless virgin. 

He changes into his PJ’s, tossing his jeans into the hamper once he notices a small come stain near the zipper. He makes a mental note to do the laundry before his mom does, and inexorably notices it, lining them up for excruciating sex talk number three. 

Just as he’s pressing the power button on his computer, his mom's voice calls from the bottom of the stairs, asking him to come down. Groaning, he reluctantly pulls himself from his chair and treads downstairs.

When he reaches the kitchen, his parents are sitting at the table, hands folded together with grim, slightly bemused expressions on their faces. Spencer frowns, racking his brains for something that he's done wrong. He came home on time, even a minute before eleven, and he hasn't done anything else that would warrant him a lecture ― at least nothing his parents could possibly know about ― so he immediately jumps to the next conclusion: someone died. 

"What ― " Stopping short, his gaze catches the two packs of condoms and lube he had bought with Ryan, sitting on the table in front of them. His cheeks immediately flush with heat, mortified. "Where did you get those?" he asks tightly, voice straining with guilt and anger, knowing they couldn't have found those, hidden in the back of his nightstand drawer, without searching his room first. 

They ignore him, and his mom is the first to speak. "You're fifteen years old, Spencer," she states with a saddened expression. 

He swallows, feeling his gut twist into knots. "I know that," he snaps. 

"That's way too young to be having sex."

"I'm not ― " He stops himself, taking a deep breath in an attempt to prolong the inevitable blow-up. "I'm not having sex," he tries again, and he doesn't think he's lying. Not technically, anyways. Maybe if this was the 50's, but it's not, and the last time he checked exchanging two quick hand-jobs isn't considered sex. 

"Then why do you have these?" she asks, gaze flicking towards the condoms in disgust as if they were skeletons instead. His dad remains silent next to her, face pulled into anger and mistrust, hurt, which Spencer almost finds to be worse. 

"They're not even open," he points out. "Obviously I can't be having too much sex if there isn't even one taken out. Just because I bought them doesn't mean I'm doing it. I was just ― I thought I'd be careful."

Shifting her gaze downwards, she clears her throat, starting slowly as if thinking over the words as she speaks. "I know that Jon's older… that he could be pressuring you into things…" 

"Jon hasn't pressured me into anything," Spencer grinds out through clenched teeth, cheeks throbbing with humiliation. "He hasn't even asked me to." First Brendon and now this, Spencer is quickly coming to the realization that this just might be the worst ending to his first sexual experience ever. 

She looks up, searching his eyes with uncertainty. "You're still my baby, Spencer," she says quietly, voice breaking, and for a brief moment, Spencer's worried she might burst out into tears. "I don't ― You're not supposed to grow up this fast." Spencer's dad reaches over, wrapping a hand around hers. 

"Mom," he tries weakly, shifting uncomfortably as guilt runs through him. He sighs, and says, "I swear, I'm not lying. Me and Jon aren't ― we aren't doing that. And he's not pressuring me either. He's not like that." 

She sighs, resting her forehead onto her hand. An awkward silence hangs thick over them, the minutes on the clock above them ticking slowly by. Finally, his dad looks up, nodding towards the door. "You can go back to your room now," he says firmly. 

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice as he scrambles away, sneaking one last look at his mom while he turns the corner. When he gets to his room, he opens his phone and scrolls to Jon's name, leaving the cursor there for exactly one minute before snapping it back closed.

*

The next morning Spencer wakes up to the condoms and lube sitting on his computer chair. A note sits on top; be safe, it reads, scrawled out in his mother's handwriting. 

Spencer groans, and buries them at the bottom of his dresser drawer. 

*

His parents don't bring up Jon coming for dinner that night, and Spencer couldn't be more relieved. The thought of Jon sitting around and having dinner with them, things already awkward and tense, would be unbearable beyond belief. He's happy his parents can at least realize that. The last thing he needs is his parents accusing Jon of pressuring and corrupting 'their baby.'

He tries calling Ryan again, but this time, it goes straight to voicemail. He frowns, growing concerned. Within the next hour he calls five more times, leaves three voicemails and sends him six texts, all of which go unanswered. 

Finally, at three, two hours after he first called, he decides he can't sit there and worry any longer, and bikes down to his house. Sometimes, he wonders where he stopped being Ryan's friend, and became his mother. Ryan mostly teases him about it, tells him he gets all his fussing and nagging from his own overly-maternal mother, but Spencer knows that deep down, he appreciates it. After all, he needs it from someone since his own turned out to be such a failure, disappearing when he was barely a year-old.

Spencer waits on his front step for five minutes, ringing the doorbell at thirty second intervals, foot jiggling nervously. There's no car in the driveway, and when Spencer steps out onto the yard to look up at Ryan's window on the second floor, the curtains are drawn and there's no sign of movement. 

He tries the doorbell one last time, gnawing on his bottom lip, when finally the door opens, revealing Ryan. A wave of relief washes over him before it's quickly replaced with anger. 

"You dick!" he cries, and pushes past Ryan into his house. "What the fuck?"

Ryan shrugs, barely, running his hands through his tangled hair. Spencer stops freaking out long enough to notice that Ryan resembles something of death, purple underneath his eyes and baggy sweats hanging off his scraggly body. He frowns, and asks, rushed out with worry, "What's wrong? What happened? Is it your dad? What did he do now? Do you need to stay at my house? 'Cause you totally can, my parents ― "

"For Christ sake," Ryan snaps, shutting the door behind Spencer. "No, it's not my dad. It's not always my dad, Spencer."

Spencer bites down onto his lip, shoulders dropping. "Sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed.

Ryan shrugs, sighing. "It's okay."

"So…" he starts after a long pause, "what's wrong then?" 

"Nothing's wrong," he says, but it lacks any will to make it sound even somewhat believable.

"Ryan," Spencer presses, gentle, "come on. I know you, and I know something's wrong. Tell me and we can try to fix it." 

Ryan laughs, dryly. "Good luck with that." 

Spencer frowns, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. 

He sighs again, eyes darting down the hallway, junk littered along the edges of the flooring. "It's just Pete," he admits quietly, after a few minutes pass. 

"What about him?" 

Ryan shrugs, hair hanging in front over his eyes as he stares down at his feet. "He dumped me, I guess."

"He ― He dumped you?" Spencer repeats, floundered. He wasn't even aware they were a couple.

"I guess so. I mean, I don't know," he mumbles, avoiding Spencer's gaze. "If we were even together. Apparently we weren't."

"Is that what he said?" Spencer asks carefully. 

"Yeah." Straightening, he brings his chin up, suddenly defiant, as if realizing something. "I mean, whatever," he says, shrugging indifferently, but Spencer can see right through it. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"Ryan." Spencer frowns, and Ryan brings his chin up higher. He opens his mouth, probably trying to shrug it off once more, but Spencer reaches forward before he has the chance, wrapping his arm around his neck and pulling him into his chest.

Ryan remains stiff at first, but slowly, he wraps his arms around Spencer's waist, sinking into his hold. "I'm so fucking stupid," he mutters into his shoulder, and Spencer holds on tighter. "I don't even ― I should've known. I should've listened."

When Spencer pulls away, Ryan drops his gaze once again, but not quick enough to hide the small pool resting in the corners of his eyes. Something ugly tugs at his gut, and it's like last night with his mom all over again, except that much more painful. Spencer's seen Ryan at the lowest of the low; he's seen him with split lips and black eyes, but only once has he ever seen him shed more than a single tear that he didn't immediately brush away.

"Hey, come on," Spencer says, gently nudging his shoulder. "It'll be okay. He was a dick, anyway. There's bigger, better fish in the sea." 

Ryan rolls his eyes, chuckling softly at his lame analogy. He can still laugh, at least. "Yeah. I mean, you and Jon were right after all," he shrugs, letting out a long exhale of breath, "like a twenty year-old would really be interested in me. Or, I guess anyone, really." He laughs at the end, as if brushing it off as a joke, but Spencer catches some truth to it. 

"Ryan, come on," he protests. "Don't be stupid. People are interested in you."

He rolls his eyes. "Like who?" 

"Like Tom for one."

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Tom Conrad?" he repeats, doubtful. 

Spencer nods. 

"Yeah, right," he scoffs.

"I mean it."

Ryan hugs his arms across his chest, eyes drifting away. "Whatever," he replies, short and disbelieving. "Either way, Pete's the only one who's ever actually done anything about it."

"Does doing something about it mean attacking you at a concert?" Spencer asks, quirking an eyebrow, and Ryan pulls a face. "There have been plenty of people over the years that’ve shown interest, but you don't open your eyes long enough to notice. Like Tom? Seriously? He joined the school newspaper for you. If he were anymore obvious he'd have a huge 'I heart Ryan Ross' tattooed across his forehead."

"Shut up." He rolls his eyes, but Spencer can see the bashful smile tugging at his lips.

"So," he says after a moment, smiling softly himself, "do you maybe want to like, I don't know, stop standing in your hallway like idiots and go watch TV or something?" 

Ryan pulls his arms closer to his chest, and bites his lip, unsure. "Don't you have to go see Jon or something?" he asks carefully. 

"No." He pulls his phone from his pocket, switching it off and flashing it in front of Ryan. "See," he says, "no boyfriend."

"Okay. Sure," Ryan says, face lighting. Spencer realizes then, that this is the closest he's felt to Ryan since Jon came along; he feels like best friends again. Before now, he couldn't remember the last time they hung out without any form of hostility towards each other.

Ryan starts up the stairs first, and it's not until they reach the top that Spencer notices a slight limp to his step. "What happened to your leg?" He frowns.

Ryan freezes, if only for a moment, the muscles underneath his t-shirt contracting. "Oh, I just tripped up the stairs yesterday. My ankles a bit strained," he replies, noncommittally, pushing the door to his room open.

Spencer follows behind, watching the limp in his step with uncertainty. "It wasn't your ― " Ryan cuts him off before he has a chance to finish, spinning around to face him, features darkened. 

"Don't even say it," he snaps. "It wasn't. I just tripped. By myself. It happens."

Spencer sighs, eyeing him one last time before letting it go. After all, it does happen; Spencer would know. He was the one who tripped up the school stairs last week in front of a large group of upperclassmen. 

Ryan turns the power on his television and Nintendo, grabbing both controllers and throwing one at Spencer, who manages to catch it just as it knocks into his chest. He shoots Ryan a glare, and he shrugs loosely in reply. "You need to work on your reflexes." He takes a seat on the edge of his bed as the game starts up, and Spencer catches the small, pained expression that comes across his face before he quickly covers it up. 

Spencer frowns worriedly, wondering how many bruises are hidden beneath his clothing. He knows he can't push things like this, that if Ryan doesn't want to talk about it, then he won't. He knows that if he asks more, Ryan will only get annoyed and push away, building up that wall until it’s nearly impossible to talk to him about anything. Most of the time, when Ryan's dad has an especially bad month or receives a little more money on his paycheck to buy booze, Spencer is left to freak out in his own head, wishing there was something he could do, but knowing there's not. 

He lets Ryan beat him five times at Mario Kart, though.

*

"So, uh. Guess what?" Spencer asks, breaking off a piece of his strawberry Poptart. 

Across from him, Ryan raises an unenthused eyebrow, barely batting an eyelash as he shoves half the pastry into his mouth in one bite. 

"Well," Spencer starts nervously. "Uh. I guess I'm not a complete and hopeless virgin anymore."

Ryan's gaze instantly snaps to meet Spencer's, expression frozen. "What do you mean?"

Spencer shrugs, feeling vaguely shy and a little bit embarrassed as he lets out a strained laugh. "Oh, you know. Just, um. Me and Jon, like, I don't know. Got each other off? I guess." He blushes deeper, entire face now engulfed in cherry. He feels stupid because this is Ryan after all; they've confided in much worse things over the years. Not that this is bad or anything, because it's not. In fact, it's really, really good. Spectacular, even. "You know, with our hands." He waves one in the air, as if Ryan needs to be reminded what a hand is.

He waits, as if taking a moment to think this over, and then goes back to his Poptart, unfazed. "Oh."

"Oh?" Spencer repeats, incredulously. "That's it?"

"I guess so?"

Spencer stares at him, aghast, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Who are you?" he asks after a beat. Ryan frowns, as if confused over his reaction, and Spencer continues before he has a chance to reply, "I thought you'd have a little more to say than that. You know, at least lecture me or something."

Shrugging, Ryan pops the last bite into his mouth. "I don't know. It's been over a month, it was bound to happen sometime."

Spencer stares at him while Ryan goes onto his new Poptart, shoving it into his mouth like nothing had happened. He waits a total of three minutes before asking, careful and drawn-out, "Aren't you going to ask me how it was or something?" 

Ryan looks up, face blank. "Okay," he says. "How was it?"

"Um," Spencer starts, flabbergasted. "Good?"

Ryan nods. "Good." Shoving the last bite into his mouth, he gets up, grabbing his plate and dumping it into the sink with a clatter. "Come on," he says, heading towards the door leading to his living room, "I'll kick your ass in Halo now."

Spencer listens to the sound of his footsteps retreating up the stairs, staring at the now cold pastry. He blinks, replaying the conversation over in his head. "What the - ?" he mutters to himself, floundered as Ryan calls his name from the top of the stairs. 

*

It's late when Spencer finally leaves Ryan's, the sun already set and the moon peaking out over the rooftops across the street. It's cool for a March night, the wind softly blowing, and the air nips him through his sweater. The second he steps outside he pulls his phone from his pocket, switching it on. He doesn't bother reading all five of Jon's texts before pressing speed-dial 2.

Jon picks up on the third ring, and says, skipping any formal greetings, "There you are! Shit, for awhile I thought you were dead."

"Sorry," Spencer murmurs, choosing to walk his bike. His last attempt to talk on the phone while riding ended him in a horrible crash involving Mrs. Perkins rosebush. It’s safe to say that he's learned his lesson since then. 

"It's okay. I was just worried, I guess," he replies, voice muffled. Spencer smiles, chest fluttering, and imagines a pink blush spreading across Jon's cheeks on the other side of the line. "Your phone’s been off all day. How come?" 

"I was with Ryan," he explains. "BFF bonding time."

"Oh, I see. Exciting," he says, but there's something in his tone that makes Spencer think otherwise. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, finding it increasingly difficult to wheel his bike down the road with one hand, and trying to deal with a moody boyfriend in the other. 

"I don't know. Nothing." He pauses, and after no reply from Spencer, he says, "I just ― I don't know. Would he really have made that big of deal if your phone was on?" 

"Probably not," he replies, irritation rapidly forming in his gut. He doesn't get why, for once, they can't both leave him alone. He's slowly starting to realize that it's impossible to please them both. "But I figured I owed him at least a day of undivided attention."

"I guess so."

"Look," Spencer says after a long moment of silence, "I'll call you back when I get home, okay? I'm trying to walk my bike while talking and it's proving to be really hard." That, and he doesn't have the patience to deal with Jon right now. Spending a day with a pouty Ryan was enough to go around, and he's starting to feel exhausted by all of it.

"Oh," Jon says, and then, "Okay. Sure." 

"Bye." Not waiting for Jon's reply, Spencer clicks off his phone and shoves it into his pocket. He climbs onto his bike, and spends the ride home not thinking about nagging best friends or clingy boyfriends. 

*

Monday morning Ryan shows up to school dressed in all black and eyes rimmed with a heavy coat of smudged kohl. Ryan's never been one to skip the dramatics. 

Spencer sympathizes at first, pulling him into a hug when he first sees him that morning, but by lunch time, after Ryan spends a half an hour moping and poking at his burger, barely speaking more than a word, Spencer's mostly just feeling annoyed. He gets that he liked Pete, that this was his first almost-relationship, but that's just it. It was an almost, and it barely lasted for a week. Being sad is fine, Spencer can get that, but this is getting to be a little too much. 

Thankfully, Jon comes to the rescue, sliding into the chair next to him, and greeting him with a chaste kiss, arm sliding around the back of his chair. Spencer catches Ryan roll his eyes over his macaroni. 

"Hi, Ryan," Jon says, cheerily. On a scale of one to ten, Spencer can't quite pin down just how fake it is, but he assumes it's somewhere near the top. 

Not looking up from his plate, Ryan mutters a disinterested, "Hi." 

"How are you doing?" Jon asks, sympathy laced thickly in his voice.

Ryan snaps his head up to look at him, eyes flashing with heat and Spencer tenses, eyes slipping shut as he imagines ten different ways to strangle his dumb-ass boyfriend. He was hesitant about telling Jon in the first place, but he figured he'd find out on his own eventually; he figured he'd be smart enough not to go mentioning it around Ryan. Apparently, he had thought wrong. 

"You told him?" Ryan demands. 

Spencer cracks one eye open to see Ryan glaring at him, face pulled tight and flushed red with anger. He swallows, and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd care. I mean, he would've found out eventually."

"You're unbelievable," he hisses.

Jon fiddles with his ear, eyes drifting across the cafeteria in discomfort, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but here. Good, Spencer thinks bitterly. So he should be.

"And what else have you told him about me?"

"Ryan," he sighs, exasperated, "I didn't think it was that big of a deal. It's not like you told me not to tell."

"I shouldn't have to," he snaps. "You should know there are some personal things in my life I'd rather not have you sharing with your boyfriend."

Spencer groans, jaw clenching in frustration. "Ryan," he cries. "Why are you freaking out so much over this? It's like you're just trying to start a fight with me."

"The fact that you don't even get why I'd be mad at you, makes me even madder!" 

"Uh, I'm just going to go…" Jon mumbles awkwardly, pulling himself from his chair. 

Ryan and Spencer both turn to glare at him the same time, eyes flashing with mirrored anger. "Stay," they demand in unison, and Jon carefully sits back down, swallowing. Spencer will be damned if he gets away that easily, and yet he's still forced to sit here through the wrath of Ryan thanks to his idiocy. 

"You're taking this a little bit too far," he says, calm as he can manage. 

"No, I'm not," he insists harshly, stabbing his lunch with his plastic fork, "it's the fact that if you can't keep this one little thing to yourself, no matter how small it may seem to you, how the hell am I supposed to trust you with the other stuff anymore? I miss the days when I could tell you things and not have to worry about you telling him later on." He jerks his chin towards Jon at the mention, disdain floating thickly in his eyes. 

Jon's face scrunches together, clearly offended, but Spencer's glad he at least has the sense to keep his mouth shut this time.

"That's not fair," Spencer says after a moment, feeling cornered. "It was only little thing. You can't tell me you can't trust me anymore just because I happened to mention to him that some asshole dumped you after a week."

Ryan's expression suddenly changes, pulling into something harsher. He shakes his head, lips pulled into a thin line. Pushing away the tray of half-eaten food, he gets up from his seat. "Whatever, Spencer," he spits. Before Spencer has a chance to think of a rebuttal, Ryan's pushing past a group of freshman girls next to their table, and disappears out of the cafeteria.

Spencer stares after him, skin prickling with frustration and guilt. Jon shifts next to him, clearing his throat uncomfortably, reminding Spencer of his presence. Turning to glare at him, he snaps, "This is all your fault! You couldn't have just kept your mouth shut. You know what Ryan's like."

"I tend to forgot how truly crazy he really is sometimes," he responds, dryly, rolling his eyes. 

Spencer punches him in the arm with as much force as he can conjure up, scowling. "Shut up. You're an asshole."

Jon flinches, and moves slightly to the right, away from Spencer. "What?" he defends. "It's true. It was some loser twenty year-old loser interested in a sixteen year-old, what did he expect? We tried to tell him. And what? Like I wouldn't have figured it out myself. I knew this was going to happen since day one."

"That's not the point," he hisses, rolling his fist along the edge of the table, irritation bubbling inside his veins. 

Jon remains silent, and Spencer can feel his eyes on him, but he refuses to look up. After a moment, he murmurs, "Don't be mad at me."

Spencer wouldn't call this a fight-fight, but it's the first disagreement between them that reaches beyond what movie to watch or what flavor of chips to get. It's frustrating and he's pissed off, but there's a part of it that's also a little invigorating. He likes that he can be the one to get mad at Jon and still have him come crawling back, tail tucked between his legs. Spencer can name at least fifteen people off the top of his head that would love to have that kind of power. 

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Ryan's mad at me because of you."

"And he'll get over it," Jon replies, simply. "He always does."

Spencer turns to face him, and slowly, he inhales, the tension in his shoulders slowly retreating. Jon's right, and he knows it. "I could've at least prolonged the next fight if it wasn't for you," he points out difficultly. 

"Yeah, but it didn't." Wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck, he pulls him into him, despite his initial struggle. "Chill," he insists, pecking the corner of his mouth, "he'll be over it by the end of the day."

*

Apparently Jon’s wrong on this one, because when he shows up at Ryan's locker at the end of the day, just like he does every other Monday and Thursday, he's nowhere in sight. When he asks the girl at the locker next to his if she saw him, she tells him he left not even a minute earlier.

Spencer curses underneath his breath, thanks her, and returns to cursing. Ryan is a drama queen, this is nothing new, but this is taking it a bit too far. 

He could give him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe it did just slip his mind, thinking it was another day of the week when Spencer hangs out with Jon, but he doubts it. Ryan never forgets. 

Spencer manages to catch Jon just as he's closing his locker door, a familiar green backpack slung over his shoulder. "Ryan ditched me," he says as a greeting, "can you drive me there so I can bitch at him?"

Jon rolls his eyes, but there's softness to it as he slings an arm over Spencer's shoulder, leading him towards the staircase. He takes that as a yes. 

Spencer still feels a twinge of pride whenever he walks down the hallway with Jon, his arm wrapped around his shoulder or hand fit snugly with his. Spencer's never been one o feel superior over others, but sometimes, he can't help it. Jon is hot, okay? 

In the car, Jon turns in the opposite direction of Ryan's house. When Spencer shoots him a questioning look, he just smirks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "What? You don't want to go make out in my backseat for a bit?" 

Rolling his eyes, Spencer laughs, heat creeping up the back of his neck. And yeah, actually, he kind of really does. They could go back to his house and make out on an actual bed, but there's something about backseats that are slightly more exhilarating; he feels more rebellious this way.

Jon pulls into an empty playground parking lot, coming to a stop at the very end. They've been here once or twice before, knowing the chances of them being left alone are high, since it remains mostly abandoned except on warm, summer afternoons. 

Spencer crawls into the backseat first, Jon following behind him, and he presses his lips to Spencer's before he even makes contact with the seat. Spencer's fairly sure he's more familiar with the backseat of Jon's car than he is with his own parent's SUV. The first few times they had done this, Spencer felt a bit sleazy. Now it's more of a thrill to him, knowing someone could walk by and peek in at any moment.

Nudging Spencer down, Jon slides on top, tongue flicking along his bottom lip. Spencer kisses him back hungrily, hands slipping around the back of his neck and pressing into the warm skin. 

They've barely been kissing for a minute when Jon's hips begin to grind down against his, their breath picking up. A small whimper escapes from the back of Spencer's throat, and Jon snakes a hand between them, popping the button open on his jeans. When he tugs the fly down, Spencer pulls back, regretfully. "Wait, wait," he says between heavy pants of air, "I can't. I'm going to Ryan's after." The second the words come out of his mouth he realizes the idiocy; like he's really going to turn down his second hand job, ever, because of Ryan. He goes to tell him fuck it, but Jon's already attempting to tug his jeans down his hips, anyway. "What ― "

"Sh," Jon interrupts.

Spencer snaps his mouth shut, frown deepening, but lifts his hips so Jon can pull his pants and boxers down his thighs. He swallows, entire face heating into a dark crimson; even though Jon has seen him before, it was never eyelevel. This whole, Jon-seeing-him-naked thing, might take a while longer to get used to. 

He's still confused until Jon shimmies down his legs and bends down, lips brushing along the inside of his thigh, and suddenly, he gets it. "Fuck," he gasps, sitting up on his elbows and cranes his neck to peer down at him. "Jon."

Looking up through thick eyelashes, Jon smiles cheekily, and nips the sensitive skin just below his hardening cock. 

"Are you ― " Spencer's cut off as Jon's mouth nudges over, nose dragging over the coarse, wiry hair, hot breath brushing against him. "Shit," he curses. He is totally about to get a blow job. In the backseat of Jon's car. In a children's playground parking lot.

Fuck.

Jon's tongue is the first thing to come into contact, nothing more than a quick lick over the tip, but Spencer presses his head back against the worn cushion, whimpering. For awhile, Spencer thought he'd be thirty before he ever had a mouth on his dick. 

He keeps his hands beside him, fingers tugging on his own shirt. He figures Jon probably wouldn't appreciate him pulling his hair like bloody murder while taking him in, inch by inch.

Feeling himself hit the back of Jon's throat, no problem, he can't help but think of all the practice he must've had to be able to do that. However, the thought is quickly pushed away as Jon's mouth slides back up, tonguing the tip. 

When Jon's hand comes into contact with his balls, Spencer's hands take on a life of their own, and shoot to his head, fingers knotting into the small tufts of hair. Jon doesn't seem to mind though, lips still stretched around him, so Spencer keeps them there, chest rising and falling with rapid, heavy breaths. "Shit," he babbles. "Jon, fuck. What the ― Oh god, I love you. I love you. Shit. You are awesome."

Jon smiles around him, hands now working on his shaft, and Spencer is pretty sure Jon should win an award for giving the world’s most awesome head. He's aware he has nothing else to compare to, but he really doubts it could get much better than this. 

"I'm sorry. Sorry," he pants, thumb pressing against Jon's cheek, the tip of his index finger resting on the corner of his mouth, stretched around his cock. Hands down, Jon sucking dick ― his dick, most importantly ― is the hottest thing ever. "But, like. I'm totally going to come soon. I'm sorry, I'm not even embarrassed. I'm a virgin, okay, and this is really fucking hot." 

Jon chuckles as Spencer hits the back of his throat once more, and he slams his head against the seat, fingers digging into Jon's scalp. "Shit, I'm gonna ― " Spencer moans, and promptly releases inside Jon's mouth without further warning. 

He makes a small, choking noise in response, but he keeps his mouth on him anyway. Spencer watches his Adam's Apple in utter amazement, bobbing up and down as he swallows. It's official, Jon is never allowed to leave him. He's his forever. 

Only once Spencer's finished completely, not a single drop left in him, Jon pulls off, licking his lips. He smiles smugly as Spencer looks up at him in awe. "See, not a drop. You have nothing to worry about."

Spencer laughs, mind still off and floating somewhere above them. "Thanks."

Jon slides back down, covering his body like a warm blanket. He pulls his jeans and underwear with him, and Spencer lifts his hips, allowing him to slide them back on the rest of the way. Tucking him into his boxers, still leaving the fly of his jeans undone, Jon presses a wet, messy kiss to his lips. 

Spencer pulls back, nose scrunched, the taste of himself on the back of his tongue. "Ew. Gross."

"I think it tastes good," he purrs, wiggling his eyebrows, and Spencer makes a face. "God." Jon nudges his nose against his, and murmurs huskily, "You're so hot when you're turned on, all incoherent and rambling." He presses his hips against Spencer's thigh, cock straining against the denim. 

Spencer seriously has the most awesome boyfriend ever. 

Sitting up on his elbow, Jon looks down at him with a large, overly-pleased smirk on his face. Spencer frowns, confused and slightly worried. "So, um," he starts, the other hand not holding himself up, creeping up Spencer's shirt and running along his belly, "you love me, huh?" He breaks out into a grin as Spencer returns with a horrified expression. 

"Shut up," he hisses, cheeks reddening. "It was my first blow job and it was awesome. I didn't know what I was saying."

"Okay," he says, long and drawn-out, tone disbelieving. He's just teasing, Spencer knows he is, but he punches him in the arm anyways. 

"Shut up," he repeats, the tips of his ears now burning red. "You're never going to let this go, aren't you? Just like the condom thing."

Jon shrugs, eyeing the ceiling of his car in contentment. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not."

Spencer scowls. "You're seriously lucky you just gave me an amazing blowjob."

"Or what?"

"Or I would make you suffer with that," he says, cheekily, grazing his hand along the bulge poking against the crotch of his jeans.

Jon laughs, bending down to press a kiss to Spencer's mouth, tongue flicking along his. He smirks as Spencer pops the button open, humming into his mouth, "Well, that's a good thing then, huh?" 

*

An hour and one, terrifying attempt at a blowjob later, Jon drops Spencer off at Ryan's. He's surprised to see Mr. Ross' car in the driveway again, and when he answers the door, smiling and welcoming him inside, eyes clear and breath smelling of peppermint, Spencer thinks he might be wrong with what he had assumed was going on with Ryan. 

Upstairs, music is blasting from underneath Ryan's door, intrusive and somehow, even more emo-sounding than the usual music he's accustomed to. He knocks, but he doubts Ryan can hear over the noise, so he opens it himself, hoping for the best. He's relieved to find Ryan lying on his bed, fully clothed, and staring up at the ceiling, appearing to be in deep thought. 

"Hey," he yells, shutting the door behind him and Ryan looks up, startled.

"What are you doing here?" He frowns, settling back into his pillows. 

"I came to apologize," he replies, walking over to his stereo and cranks the volume down a few notches, back to human level. The Hawthorne Heights CD case is open next to it, and Spencer knows this is never a good sign; Ryan only brings it out for drastic measures. 

"I don't really feel like talking right now."

"Well, too bad, 'cause you're going to anyways," Spencer replies stubbornly. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, Ryan's long legs brushing against his back. "I'm going to say something, and want you to just listen, okay? And then when I'm done, you can say whatever it is you want, and I'll do the same for you." Spencer looks over at Ryan for confirmation, and slowly, he nods. "Okay," he starts, taking a deep breath, "I get why you'd be a little upset over me telling Jon, but I almost feel like you're taking this too far. I can never do anything right anymore. It's like you're always finding some reason to get mad at me, and it's getting really fucking exhausting." 

Ryan remains silent except for a small sigh, and it vaguely surprises Spencer. He was expecting him to instantly jump in, defending himself and blaming Jon, like always. "That's not true," he eventually says. "It's just ― It's been really stressful lately, and I just miss hanging out with my best friend, you know? Maybe it's a bit selfish but I'm not used to sharing you, and sometimes ― I don't know," he ducks his head, tone turning meek, "I get the feeling you care more about Jon than you do about me."

"Ryan, come on. You know that's not true," Spencer insists, quiet but firm. "You're my best friend, and that means more to me than Jon, or any other boyfriend for that matter. It's just really hard. I try to balance my time but it's like I've constantly got the two of you pulling me in opposite directions. I can never win with you guys, and neither of you seem to understand that." Ryan's expression changes, pulling into something of guilt, and Spencer quickly adds, "And I know it doesn't make it any better, but he's my first boyfriend, you know? It's so strange to like this person so much and want to be around them all the time. Of course I want to hang out with you too, and it's horrible, but I ― I guess in the beginning I was almost thinking that we've had years before and we'll have years after to hang out, but not Jon, so I should make the most of what I do have with him, you know? But then I realized that's a horrible way to think, that I can't ditch you along the way or else you won't be there in the future, and now I'm trying. Really hard."

Ryan sighs, resting his head against the pillow, and presses his palm to his face. "Shit, I bet you were wishing it worked out with Pete so you didn't have to deal with me so much, huh?" He laughs into his hand, but Spencer can tell even by the muffled sound, that he knows it's anything but funny. 

"No, actually," Spencer admits, "I don't."

Ryan pulls his hand from his face, frowning.

"You know I didn't trust that guy from the beginning," Spencer says, and reaches forward to smooth a comforting hand along Ryan's calf. "Honestly, Ryan, I know what he did really sucks, but if you think about it, it's almost better that he did it now, instead of months down the road when it would've hurt even more." Ryan shrugs, seemingly unconvinced. "You know it would've," Spencer presses, looking him in the eye. 

Ryan blinks, and Spencer catches the wetness in his eyes before he's pulling his knees to his chest, pressing his face into his lap. Sighing, Spencer scoots over until he's next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, and nudges his forehead against ear. "Come on, Ryan," he says softly, "it's okay. He's just some jerk."

Little by little, Ryan lifts his head back up and looks at Spencer, eyes still brimmed with tears. "Spencer." It's cracked, tiny and vulnerable, like a child, and even though a part of Spencer wants to shake Ryan by the shoulders and tell him to move on, it's enough to make his heart ache. 

"Ryan, what ― "

He shakes his head, hair hanging in front of his eyes. "I don't ― I didn't want to tell you. I ― I can't."

"Ryan," Spencer frowns, voice straining with worry, "what is it? You can tell me."

He shakes his head again, swallowing. "No," he chokes out, "I can't."

"Ryan ― "

He mumbles into his legs, and Spencer freezes, color draining from his face, hoping he'd heard wrong. He had to, he must’ve, because there's no way Ryan would ― 

Shit.

Spencer takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and braces himself. "What?"

"I slept with him," Ryan repeats, clearer this time. When Spencer opens his eyes, Ryan's looking straight ahead, Adam's Apple bobbing as he pushes the ball of his hands into his eye sockets. His shoulders are tensed, hair covering his face and Spencer stares at him, lost. 

"I didn't want to tell you," he says after a few minutes of silence, Spencer's mouth opening and closing as he tries to rack his brain for something to say, but he can't seem to get passed the fact that Ryan slept with Pete. Ryan sniffs, and wraps his knees in an even tighter hug. "I didn't want you to ― I just ― " He stops himself, shaking his head.

Spencer swallows, large enough to make a sound, and breathes out a bewildered, "Shit, Ryan." Wrapping an arm around Ryan's waist, he pulls him backwards until his spine bumps into his chest. Ryan's resistant at first, but Spencer ignores him, pressing his nose into his shoulder, and he feels him slowly begin to relax, sinking into him. 

"I wasn't going to tell you," he repeats, and Spencer can feel his shoulders shake. "I was just ― fuck. I was so ― so embarrassed. I don't get it, Spencer. I don’t. All this time I've been judging everyone else, you included, and Christ. Jon's your boyfriend. Even if you did have sex with him, at least you know he likes you. And there I go, sleeping with some guy after a week." 

"When ― When was this?" he asks carefully, hooking his chin onto Ryan's shoulder. 

"On Friday."

"You mean ― " Spencer starts, thinking back to Saturday morning when he had come over, demanding why he hadn't been answering his phone. When Ryan was limping, saying it was because of his leg, and Spencer believed him. He knows Ryan like the back of his hand, but somehow, he still believed him. "You slept with him and then he ― "

"Dumped me?" he finishes, flatly. "Yeah." His rests his head against Spencer's chest, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "We pretty much did it, and then he was being all weird and distant and then he drove me home, and he ― " he swallows, taking an unsteady breath before continuing, "he told me that like, he doesn't want a relationship or whatever." His expression suddenly changes, turning into something darker. "Which is like, God. All along he was telling me all this crap. That he liked me, that anyone would be lucky to have me as their boyfriend. He kept telling me that when you're older, sex isn't like it is in high school, and basically everyone just ― does it right away. And like, I don't even know. I just ― I fucking believed him."

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and Spencer feels so stupid. He feels like an asshole. He should've known, he should've been more supportive, instead of telling him to get over it. He knows Ryan, he should've known there was something else. 

"Even after the first night, he kept pressuring me to have sex with him, and I kept saying no. And then on Friday, I just ― I did because I didn't think he'd stick around much longer if I didn't. Turns out," he scoffs, "he didn't stick around anyway.

"All this time I've been calling other teenagers naive, but look at me; you can't get much more stupid than that. To believe such shit. That he actually liked me and sex was just something I had to do to like, I don't know, actually have a relationship with him," he spits, tears now gone and replaced with anger. 

Spencer sucks in a breath, still at a loss for words. Pressing his face into the back of Ryan's shoulder, he squeezes him around his waist.

"I didn't want to tell you because it was so hypocritical. I just feel so ― so sick. It's like I can't stand being in my own skin. I can't ― it's not something I can just take back, Spin."

Spencer wishes he knew what to say. He feels like an idiot, a horrible best friend, just sitting there without a single word to say as Ryan pours his heart out next to him, practically in tears. "Ryan," he starts helplessly, "I'm so sorry. I don't know ― I'm not sure what to say…" 

He shrugs loosely. "It's fine. This is better than what I expected. I thought you'd yell at me and call me a slut."

"No, I think you're punishing yourself enough as it is."

Ryan sniffs, quiet for a moment before says in a small voice, "I wish I just would've listened to you and Jon. Why didn't I listen, Spencer?" 

"I - I don't know," he answers lamely.

"I just thought that ― that maybe for once someone really liked me. Someone real who wasn't just on the internet, you know?" 

"Come on. You know that's not true," Spencer protests. 

"You keep saying that, Spencer, but I don't see anyone lining up to date me." Spencer goes to open his mouth, but Ryan cuts him off, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, yeah. Tom, I know. You told me once or twice."

"What's wrong with Tom?" Spencer demands.

"Nothing," he says. "Nothing is wrong with Tom, that's the thing. I'm just finding it a bit hard to believe he actually likes me."

"Why?" 

"Because, it's Tom, and it's me," he replies, eyes widening, looking at Spencer like he should know this. 

"So? I thought that about Jon," he points out, "and now look."

"That's different," he says.

"How?"

Ryan shrugs. "It just is."

"It actually isn't, at all," Spencer says, sighing in exasperation, "but whatever."

Ryan presses his lips together, stubborn as always and unwilling to cave. There's a long lull, neither of them speaking until Spencer clears his throat, smiling lopsidedly at Ryan and poking at his ribcage. "So, um. Do you want to like, watch a movie and stuff our faces with Ben & Jerry's, and I don't know, cuddle or something?" he suggests, teasing. Well, kind of. 

Ryan rolls his eyes but he laughs, and Spencer can tell it's genuine from the way his belly rumbles underneath his t-shirt. That’s a relief, at least. "Okay," he agrees, fighting back the smile. "But I don't have any ice cream though." 

Spencer pulls a face, already standing up and patting his wallet in his back pocket. "Well, let's go then. We can't have a chick, crying fest without it."

"You know, my best friend really is a loser," he notes, standing up. He heads towards the door, still dressed in sweats and an oversized sweater. 

"So is mine," Spencer replies flippantly, kicking him in the butt as he follows him out.

*

"You can ask me, you know."

Spencer blushes, pulling a pillow in front of his face. "I don't want to, like ― " He shrugs, cheeks flaming in guilt. 

Ryan chuckles, rolling his eyes. "It was okay," he says, spooning ice cream into his mouth. "I mean, I expected more. It really fucking hurt, and then it was just uncomfortable, and then by the time it started to get somewhat good, it was over."

Spencer's eyes widen, and he bites at the loose end of the pillow case nervously. Suddenly, he doesn't feel so set on allowing Jon to stick his cock inside of him. "Like really, really hurt? Like how?" 

Ryan's eyes roll up to the ceiling in contemplation. "Like you're getting ripped in two, almost. It hurt so bad for awhile that I was actually scared he was doing it wrong and something was going to like, I don't know. Break or something."

Face blanching, Spencer gulps. Okay, right. Definitely crossing sex of his list. Celibacy is cool in some cultures, right? 

Ryan, noticing his expression of horror, laughs lightly. "Don't freak out," he says. "I'm sure it gets better, you know? There's obviously a reason why people keep doing it." He rolls his eyes dryly, picking at a loose thread on his quilt. "It probably helps when the guy's not an asshole either. I don't think he was too concerned with trying to make it feel good for me in the first place, so." He shrugs indifferently, like he doesn't care, but Spencer can see right through it; the sadness in his eyes. 

Reaching out, he squeezes Ryan's shoulder consolingly, and he turns to look at him, sending him a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks," he murmurs softly. "You know, for being here for me. I know you probably want to be with Jon." 

"No," Spencer replies instantly, and he's surprised to see how much he actually means it. "That's what friends are for, right?" 

Ryan laughs, shaking his head at the sap. "Yeah, I guess so." He smiles, and drops his head onto Spencer's shoulder, breathing heavily through his mouth. 

Spencer didn't realize just how much he had missed Ryan until now.

*

By the time Friday rolls around, Jon's anything but impressed. 

He pulls Spencer off to the side at lunch, hands shoved into his pockets and face pulled into an irritated scowl. "So, are we going to ever hang out again or what?" His eyes flick over to Ryan a couple tables away, head ducked as he chews on his pizza. 

"Yes, Jon." He sighs, feeling his own rush of agitation run through him. "Ryan's just having a hard week. He needed his best friend."

Jon rolls his eyes. "What, because his 'boyfriend' dumped him?" he asks sardonically. 

"Actually, no," Spencer snaps, jaw tightening and cheeks flushing with anger. "And don't be an asshole."

Jon rolls his shoulders, a guilty expression coming over his face. Spencer pulls his arms tighter across his chest and stares at him, expectedly. "Well, what is it then?" 

"I can't tell you that," Spencer replies. "It has to do with Ryan, not me, and seeing as what happened the last time, I really doubt he'd appreciate me telling you this." 

Jon nods, understandably, but he doesn't look any more content as he runs his fingers through his scruff. "Can you come to a party with me tonight, at least?" he asks after a moment. 

"If Ryan wants to, then yeah."

Jon gives a frustrated huff, displeased by the answer, but Spencer shoots him an unimpressed look and he snaps his mouth shut. "Fine, whatever. Cool," he says forcedly. Spencer's pretty sure his boyfriend is a twelve year-old. 

"Okay, well, I'm going to go back to eat my lunch now," Spencer says, inching back towards the table where Ryan sits. "You can either join us or go whine somewhere else."

Jan narrows his eyes, as if considering doing just that, but Spencer doesn't wait for his decision before turning back on his heel and heads towards the table. Thirty seconds later, Jon comes sulking up behind him, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to him. He doesn't say anything, and Spencer smiles into his hand, victoriously. 

*

Jon agrees to pick them up at Ryan's house, but doesn't sound too overjoyed at doing so.

Tom's in the passenger seat when he arrives, and Ryan gives Spencer a light punch in the back on the way to the car, hissing. "You didn't tell me Tom was coming."

Spencer laughs, because he might've maybe known, but didn't want to tell Ryan about it in case he chickened out. Which he probably would have, knowing him. 

"Dick."

"Hey, you'll thank me," Spencer replies, grinning mischievously as they approach the car. "Now's your chance to make a move."

"Shut up." He scowls, cheeks flushing red, but Spencer's already sliding into the backseat. 

Tom is the first to greet them ― or well, Ryan at least ― as he turns around to flash him a slightly bashful smile. "Hi, Ryan." 

"Um. Hey," he replies uneasily, a small rash of light pink poking up from underneath his V-neck. 

Spencer takes a hold of his bottom lip between his teeth, biting back the laugh. Jon meets his gaze through the rear-view, grinning as he backs out of the driveway. "Hi to you too, Tom," Spencer says, smiling wickedly. 

"Oh, um. Yeah, hey, Spencer," he mumbles, the part of his face that Spencer can see behind the seat flushing red. 

Ryan shoots him a heavy, stop-it-right-now-before-I-eat-your-firstborn glare, and Spencer smiles back, batting his eyelashes in innocence. He can't help it sometimes; Ryan's too easy to bug. 

"You guy's haven't eaten, right?" Jon asks. When they both shake their head, he says, "I was thinking we could stop and get some dinner."

"Sure!" Spencer automatically pipes in, grinning at the prospect of a double date. Next to him, Ryan sinks further into his seat.

They stop at Georgie's, a popular burger joint a few blocks from their school, and Spencer lets Jon and Tom go ahead as he lags behind with Ryan, poking him in the ribs. "This is so a double-date right now."

Ryan scowls, but Spencer knows he totally loves it. "I hate you."

"And he loves you." He grins, ruffling his hair before skipping ahead to Jon, snaking an arm around his waist. 

Inside, Spencer squeezes into the U-shaped booth next to Jon, leaving Tom and Ryan with no choice but to sit next to each other on the end. They both look shy and awkward as they fidget around, a space that could fit an entire other body between them. Spencer kind of loves how cute and ridiculous they are. 

Jon rests a hand on his knee underneath the table, and nudges his forehead against his temple, lips brushing against his ear. "Missed you," he murmurs. 

Facing him, Spencer smiles and leans forward for a kiss. "Me too," he agrees. Even though Jon was a giant pain in the ass three-quarters of the past week, he couldn’t help missing him. 

"Do they do this to you all the time too?" Spencer hears Tom ask after a moment of exchanging kisses. He pulls away from Jon, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and trying not to blush. 

"Yes," Ryan replies, "all the time."

"It's pretty disturbing."

"Tell me about it," Ryan agrees dryly, and Spencer turns to face him, sticking out his tongue. 

"You like it."

Ryan makes a face, grimacing. "No. I really don't."

Jon laughs, squeezing Spencer's knee. 

Their waitress is a few years older than them, looking tired and worn out with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She smiles at them, the nametag clipped on her black t-shirt reading Mona. "Hey, guys. What can I get you to drink?" 

They order a round of Cokes, and she disappears into the back to get them. The diner's pretty busy for a Friday night, packed with teenagers such as themselves, their stop before a party or a first date. He looks at Ryan and Tom, now in the beginnings of awkward small talk, and smiles to himself. 

By the time they've ordered and their food has come, the space between them has closed and they've made plans for Tom to come take pictures of the musical rehearsal for the newspaper. Even Jon looks pleased, and the only thing Spencer wishes for is that this came sooner. 

Once they've finished their meals, Jon digs into his pocket to pay for himself and Spencer. When Ryan takes out his wallet, however, Tom is nudging it away, saying, "Don't worry about it. I'll pay for it."

Ryan's entire face turns red as he looks up at him, shaking his head. "Oh, no. I ― "

"No, really. It's okay. Save your money." Without another word, Tom pulls out two crumpled twenty dollar bills from his wallet, throwing them onto the table. His cheeks are pink as well, and Spencer has to bite onto his fingertips to stop himself from squealing. 

Ryan ducks his head, clear he's trying to bite back the grin, but he fails miserably. "Oh, um. Thank you," he murmurs.

Spencer waits until after they leave the restaurant, tailing behind with Ryan again, before tackling him, and squeals into his ear, quiet enough so Tom doesn't overhear. "Oh my god," he cries excitedly, squeezing his elbow. "I am so excited for you."

He rolls his eyes, blushing face illuminated in the artificial, light streaming down from the diner's sign. "Shut up," he says, but he's grinning from ear to ear. 

Spencer laughs, squeezing onto his arm once more, and Ryan grins harder.

*

It's barely past nine when they arrive at the party. The house is on the outskirts of town, five times bigger than his own, yet it's packed to the brim with people. Spencer barely recognizes half of them, all bleary eyed and stumbling around. He's been to exactly four parties in his life, all of which involved a game of spin the bottle and non-spiked punch.

Spencer spots a guy standing by the staircase, chugging back a bottle of straight whiskey. He switches his gaze to Ryan, worriedly, and asks, "Are you okay? Are you sure you want to be here? Because we can leave if you want."

"Relax, idiot," Ryan replies, rolling his eyes. "I can be around alcohol without having a mental breakdown, you know." 

Chewing on his bottom lip, Spencer looks over him unsurely. "Okay, but if you're uncomfortable just tell me and we'll go."

"Yes, mother," he drawls, dryly.

Jon wraps an arm around Spencer, hand pressing along the small of his back as he leads them through the crowd and into the kitchen. Tom goes off to greet some guy, slapping him on the back and grinning. Spencer catches Ryan's eyes lingering for a moment before they're flicking away to take in his surroundings. Spencer knows that look. He totally wants him.

Jon places a case of beer down onto the table already scattered with bottles, cans and plastic cups. Spencer runs his eyes across it all with wide eyes, wondering where everyone had gotten it from. Surely, they couldn't have stolen it all from their parents, and it's not like he sees too many twenty-one year olds walking around. 

"How'd you get that?" 

"What? The beer?" Jon asks, and Spencer nods. "I don't know," He shrugs, ripping the case open and pulling out two bottles, "there's this beer vendor down the street I always go to. They never ask for ID because of the beard, I guess."

"Huh," Spencer muses. 

"Here," he says, handing him one of the beers. 

Spencer gazes down at it hesitantly, and then over to Ryan whose attention is now back on them, seemingly unfazed. When he notices Spencer is looking at him approval, he rolls his eyes and says, "Oh my god. I don't care, okay?"

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes," he confirms through gritted teeth. 

Spencer sighs in defeat, going to pop the lid off his beer. It doesn't work out so well though, and it leaves him with a burning, red rash on the inside of his palm. He frowns, handing it off to Jon who is already chugging his own back. 

He laughs, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and takes the bottle from Spencer. He gets it off with one try, white foam fizzing to the top. Glaring, Spencer grabs it back from him. "You suck," he says, taking a small sip. 

He's drunken alcohol before, once last Christmas and once at their family vacation two summers ago. Both had been with his cousin, Jeremy, when they were bored and decided to sneak it behind their parent's back. He hadn't gotten drunk, buzzed maybe, and he ended up passing out with exhaustion before it got to be any fun. 

Jon smiles smugly, taking a sip as Tom reappears at their side, a red cup in his hand. His eyes instantly slide over to Ryan's empty hands, expression perking at the chance. "Do you want anything to drink, Ryan? Alcohol? Coke? Punch?" 

"Um," Ryan starts, wrapping his arms around his chest shyly, "water's fine, I guess. Thanks."

"Good choice." Tom smiles. "I wouldn't trust anything else here."

Ryan giggles as Tom pushes his way through a group of girls towards the sink. "He so wants you." Spencer smiles at Ryan over his beer. 

He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, but the blush sweeping across his cheeks eliminates any believability. "Shut up."

"Even ask Jon," Spencer insists. "Right, Jon?" He nudges his hip encouragingly, raising an eyebrow. "Tom totally wants Ryan."

"I'm not saying anything." Jon puts up his hands, but there's a smile tugging on his lips that tells different.

"That means yes," Spencer tells Ryan. 

"You." Jon chuckles fondly, and wraps an arm around his head, pulling him into his side.

Spencer slaps his hand away, yanking himself from his hold. "Asshole," he says, immediately smoothing down his hair, "don't mess up my hair."

"You don't want to know who you just sounded like there," Jon says, cracking up. Spencer narrows his eyes at him. He doesn't think he wants to either. 

Taking the last sip of his beer, Jon lets out a loud belch, slamming the bottle down onto the counter. Spencer scrunches his nose in disgust, but Jon ignores him as he reaches for a second. Spencer's barely taken two sips out of his; he's never been much of a beer fan, tastes too stale and bitter against his tongue. He much prefers those fruity drinks him and Jeremy snuck in Mexico, but he doubts there's any of those floating around here. 

Tom appears at their side again, a glass of ice water in tow. He hands it over to Ryan, smiling sheepishly. "There you go. I found a jug in the fridge."

"Thanks," Ryan murmurs, eyes ducking shyly from his.

Spencer resists the urge to wrap them both in a giant, bear-hug. That, or throw them into a locked room until they admit they have adorable, schoolgirl crushes on each other. At least with Tom, he can take the added relief that he won't fuck and chuck his best friend, like Pete had so gladly done. Well, he hopes he doesn't at least. Spencer knows where to find him if he does. 

Jon nods towards the bottle still full in his hands. "Are you going to drink that or what?" he asks. "If not, I'll have it."

"No," Spencer refuses, cradling it to his chest, "I'll drink it." To prove a point, he brings it to his lips, chugging back the bitter liquid until he splutters. 

"I didn't mean to chug it, dumb-ass," Jon retorts. "Have you even drank before?" 

Spencer narrows his eyes, offended, the fizz from the beer bubbling up his throat. "Yes, I've drank before, thank you."

"Okay. Whatever you say, Princess," he teases. 

"I'll show you," he replies, loftily, and lifts the bottle back to his mouth, chugging back the rest. 

Jon grins, and says, "You're on."

*

An hour, two cups of orange juice and vodka, and one shot of some nasty-tasting thing later, Spencer is feeling pretty great. He even manages to make some friends who pat him on the back, telling him he's an awesome guy as they hand him even more nasty-tasting shots until Jon intercepts, pulling him out of the kitchen and away from the alcohol.

Not fair, Spencer was totally enjoying it in there. 

"I know you were," he replies. Spencer didn't realize he was talking out loud. "Whoa." Jon's arms shoot out to wrap around his middle, steadying Spencer as he trips over a rug. "Okay, you've made your point," he says. "I think you can stop drinking now."

"No, no," Spencer insists, shaking his head vehemently. "I'm fine. Just fine, Jon. Great. Super."

Jon appears doubtful, but carefully removes his hand from his waist. Spencer giggles, turning around so he can wrap his arms around Jon's neck, tugging him closer. "I'm having fun," he states happily. "Are you having fun, Jon? 'Cause I am."

"Yes, Spencer. Tons," he replies mindlessly, eyes shifting behind his shoulder. "Where's Ryan?" 

"Dunno." He wraps his arms tighter around Jon, pulling their bodies flush against one another. He looses his balance though, and they stumble back until his back makes contact with the wall. He giggles, nudging his nose against Jon's. "Oopsy."

"Christ, you're drunk." He shakes his head, but leans in to kiss him anyway. 

"Nooo," he slurs. "I'm not. I'm just having fun. Can't I have fun?" 

Jon laughs, and Spencer leans in for another kiss, sloppy and wet as he pokes his tongue between Jon's lips. God, his boyfriend is so hot. Moving forward, Spencer presses his hips into Jon's. He goes with it for only a moment, before suddenly pulling back, shaking his head and chuckling. "No, you're not drunk," he replies dryly, "you just try to dry-hump me in a room full of people everyday."

Spencer looks past Jon's shoulder and around the room, as if this was suddenly just brought to his attention now. "They don't mind," he concludes after a minute, shrugging mischievously. 

Jon laughs. "Well, I do." He pecks a kiss to Spencer's nose, and pulls himself from his hold, running his fingers through his own hair. "Here," he grabs onto Spencer's arm and brings him over to the free end of the couch, sitting him down, "stay here while I go to the washroom, okay?" 

Spencer frowns, but slowly nods. "Okay."

Looking him straight in the eye, Jon says, "I mean it, don't move. I'll be right back."

He rolls his eyes, huffing in irritation. The girl next to him looks over and smirks in amusement; he feels like he's five. "Yes, Jon."

"Okay," he says, backing towards the hallway. "Stay there," he repeats once more, voice raised over the music. He points a curt finger at him before disappearing around the corner. 

Spencer stays for precisely twenty-five seconds before getting up and walking away.

*

Ten minutes later, Jon finds him in the kitchen with a tube in his mouth while Gabe Saporta pours beer down the funnel on the top. A crowd of people surround them, chanting, "Chug! Chug! Chug!" 

Spencer vaguely hears him tell Gabe to cut it out, and even through all the alcohol, he can hear the frustration and irritation thick inside it. Jon waits until the beer has drained from the bong before he's pulling him away by the arm. The group boo's, and Spencer even hears one of them yell, "Jon, way to not be fun! You're boyfriends a fucking trooper!" 

"Yeah, Jon," Spencer grins lopsidedly, vision slightly foggy, "you party pooper, you." He sways a little to the side, letting out a loud belch, and bursts into a fit of giggles immediately following. 

Sitting him down on a chair, Jon places both hands on his shoulders, and looks down at him sternly. "Spencer," he demands, "look at me."

Spencer obeys as much as he's able, finding it increasingly hard to look at him straight. Everything appears a little blurry around the edges, like a binocular before you focus them properly. Maybe he is a little drunk, after all. 

"You're fucking trashed," he manages to catch Jon saying, the loud music and chatter from others drowning him out. "You need to stop."

Spencer laughs, covering his face, and bends into his legs. He's drunk maybe, but not trashed. He's fine. He's had a few drinks, considerably less than Jon anyways, and he's not a child. It's not like he doesn't know how to handle himself.

"What?" Jon sighs. "I can't hear you with your face in your legs."

Pulling his face up, he blinks, trying to clear his vision but does so with no avail. "I'm drunk," he states, words slurred. "But I'm also fine. So fine that I really could have more of that ― that nasty stuff in those little cups."

"Shots?" 

Spencer nods furiously, eyes widening. "Yes! Yes, shots. Shot are awesome." He pauses briefly as he pulls on his serious face. "I'm just having fun, okay, Jon? I don't see why you have to try and get all up in that." His expression falters as he breaks out into laughter, burying his face back into his thighs. 

"Oh my god," Jon says, mortified, but at least he chuckles a little. "You're so going to feel this tomorrow morning."

Spencer rolls his head to the side, keeping his cheek plastered to his knee as he says, "I'm just having fun."

Jon makes a face, as if not sure whether to believe him or not. "You won't be ― " He stops mid-sentence, interrupted as Brendon and William suddenly appear, expressions pulled into highly amused scowls as they take in Spencer's current state. Jon groans, burying his face into his hands. "Great. Here we go."

Spencer lifts himself, and Brendon's disdainful gaze flicks between them before they finally land on Jon. "How about you keep your bitch on a leash," he spits. "No one wants to deal with little fifteen year-olds who can't handle their alcohol."

"Brendon," Jon snaps, but he ignores him. He meets his eyes for only a moment longer, unconcerned, before walking away. 

Spencer's face is heated, heart pounding with adrenaline inside his ribcage. He launches himself from his seat without further thought, prepared to do what he's wanted since the first time that bitch knocked his books down in the hallway. He barely makes it two feet however, before Jon's arms are shooting out and wrapping around his waist, stopping him in his tracks. 

"Lemme go," Spencer grinds out, struggling in his arms, but Jon doesn't budge. "I wanna kill that bitch."

Brendon and William both look back at the commotion, throwing their heads back and laughing as they leave the room. "Fucking loser," he hears Brendon scoff. 

Spencer grits his teeth together tighter, fists clenching, still fighting to get out of Jon's hold and give that bitch what he rightfully deserves. 

"Spencer," he says harshly. "Just let it go. He's not worth it."

"Did you ― Fuck, he ― Stupid fucking ― " Spencer growls, kicking his feet. Finally, after no sign of budging from Jon, Spencer gives up, slumping in his arms. "Fucking bitch," he finishes with a tight jaw. "I hate him."

"I know," Jon says, patting his hair soothingly. "It's fine. You're better than that."

Spencer grits his teeth, huffing, and slowly Jon removes his hands, as if scared he's going to bolt. He does consider doing just that, but the idea of more alcohol sounds slightly more appealing. "Alcohol."

"Spencer."

Spencer narrows his eyes. "If I have to deal with your goddamn ex, I want alcohol."

Jon shakes his head, but suddenly Gabe appears at his side, slapping him on the back. "Yeah, Jon. Lighten up. It's a fucking party. He's just having fun, you know?" He looks around cautiously, and then cringes. "Plus, Brendon."

Spencer pulls a face with him.

Pressing the pads of his fingers to his temple, Jon groans. 

"Take this," Gabe says, thrusting a cup into Jon's hands, "and lighten the fuck up. Like I haven't seen you more trashed than this kid numerous times before."

Jon ignores him, and asks, frowning down at the glass in suspicion, "What is this?" 

Gabe grins wickedly, wiggling his eyebrows. "My special concoction. I know how much you love this shit, dude."

Jon rolls his eyes, but takes it anyway, chugging back half the drink. He makes a face, gagging slightly while he thrusts it back into Gabe's hands. "Shit, that's nasty," he snaps, wiping his mouth and cringing. 

Gabe laughs, handing the drink off to Spencer when he makes grabby hands for it. "Pussy," he says to Jon, and claps him on the back. "See ya around." He shoots Spencer a quick wink before returning to the crowd of people, circling around someone new who's taking their turn at the beer bong. 

Spencer greedily gulps down the rest of the drink before Jon has the chance to stop him, the liquid burning a trail all the way down to his stomach. He gags, the foul aftertaste lingering in his mouth. He can't even pin down what the taste is exactly, but he knows it's not good. 

"You're an idiot," Jon says, but Spencer can tell the difference that the drink made on him, as little as it was. He really needs to know what was in that. 

Spencer smiles lazily, reaching out to grip onto Jon's shoulders, feeling the drink sink into himself. "I know," he murmurs, and Jon laughs. 

*

"Jon. Jon, I want you," Spencer murmurs huskily into his lips, running a hand up the front of his shirt while the other tugs at the hem. "We should fuck. You want to fuck, right?" Spencer has learned something about himself tonight; he gets surprisingly horny when drunk and in the presence of Jon. He's spent the last ten minutes drunkenly going over all the things he wants Jon to do to him, leaving him exceptionally hard in the confinements of his jeans as he pushes his hips against Jon's.

Jon makes a noise from the back of his throat, pulling back to look over Spencer's shoulder where a couple of girls sit at the end of the hallway, crying. "Not here," he replies hoarsely. He hooks an arm around Spencer's waist, and tugs him along, steadying him as he stumbles, mouth working on his ear. 

The first door Jon tries is locked, and he curses under his breath before moving onto the next one. This time it flies open, and they both go stumbling inside, Spencer's mouth travelling back to Jon's hungrily. 

He's totally up for having sex right now. In fact, Spencer can't think of anything more he'd rather do than get naked and have some very sexy times with his incredibly gorgeous boyfriend.

Jon pushes Spencer's shirt up his stomach, and Spencer's fairly positive he's drunk too. Maybe not as much as him, mind you, but drunk nonetheless. Enough to stop nagging him about his own alcohol consumption, at least. 

Suddenly, Jon freezes, prying his mouth from Spencer's. Gently, he pushes him away just as an all too familiar voice calls out, "Jon!" 

Spencer quickly turns towards the bed, shirt slipping back into place and eyes landing on Brendon, where he lies with swollen lips and a horrified expression on his face. A familiar guy with brown hair and a mousy face lies next to him, a bewildered and slightly offended look on his.

A small smile spreads from across Spencer's lips, and before he can help it, he bursts into a fit of giggles, pressing his hand over his mouth. Brendon glares at him, but it lacks the animosity it usually has, and it only makes Spencer laugh harder. 

Jon stares at Brendon for a moment longer, expression pulled into an equal look of horror, disgust and anger. Spencer gains a hold of himself, grabbing onto Jon's arm and pulls him out the room before it erupts into World War III. He was enjoying his buzz and the fact that he was moments away from having sex with Jon; he'd rather not have Brendon ruin that. 

Before pulling the door closed behind them, Spencer flashes Brendon an innocent grin, batting his eyelashes. "Bye, Brenny. Use protection," he calls, closing the door with a snap. Payback's a bitch. 

In the hallway, Jon has his head in his hands, cursing under his breath. "That slut! I knew he was screwing him when we were together! And him too? You've got to be kidding me. He's not even hot. He's ― "

Spotting an open door leading to a bedroom, Spencer smiles victoriously, and grabs a hold of Jon's arm, dragging him inside. He closes and locks the door behind them, something that clearly didn't cross Brendon's mind, and Jon's still going, swearing and spitting, eyes flashing with rage. 

They're in a kid’s room, Spencer assumes by the model airplane hanging from the ceiling and the Star Wars bed sheets. If he wasn't blinded by alcohol or the need for Jon to get inside him right now, he'd probably feel dirty over the fact that he's about to loose his virginity in here. 

"Shane Valdes?" Jon snaps as Spencer pulls his t-shirt over his head. "That's an insult, you know?"

Spencer hums noncommittally, popping the button open on his jeans and sliding the zipper down. Jon finally notices, stopping his rant mid-sentence to stare at Spencer with his mouth half-open. He smiles mischievously, pants halfway down his thighs as Jon says, "Spencer, this is a kid's room." 

"Don't care," he mumbles, and kicks his pants off the rest of the way, stumbling slightly in the process. He gains his composure and moves forward, slipping his arms around Jon's shoulders and kisses him wetly. "Wan' you to fuck me."

Jon swallows loud enough for Spencer to hear, and he pulls back, biting onto his bottom lip unsurely. "Spencer…" he whines. 

Grinning cheekily, Spencer inches backwards towards the bed, hands sliding into the elastic of his boxers, slowly sliding them down, revealing inch by inch. He makes a bit of a show of it, hips swaying and looking at Jon through thick eyelashes. He hopes he looks sexy, but he feels a little drunk and clumsy on his feet, so there's a high possibility that he just looks ridiculous. 

Jon watches him, mouth still hanging open, eyes thick and heavy with want, and Spencer thinks he might be doing an okay job after all, as his boxers slide to his feet. He takes a seat on the bed, Jon still making no move to join him, and he slides back until he hit's the pillows, bare body diagonal against the single mattress. He raises an eyebrow. "Jus' gonna stare all night or what?"

Groaning, Jon pulls at a lock of dark hair hanging in front of his eyes, conflicted. He looks once more at Spencer, stretched out and gloriously naked against Star Wars sheets, and meets him at the bed in three large strides. He slides onto the bed, covering Spencer's body with his own. "Fuck, fuck, Spence," he whimpers from the back of his throat, mouth wet and hot against his. "We can't ― " Their teeth knock as Spencer bucks his hips against Jon's, hardened cock running against the rough material of his jeans. "Fuck, Spencer. We're at a party. We're drunk." He runs his calloused finger along Spencer's side, and he pushes up further, mewling as his fingers drop to Jon's button.

"Don' care. Wan' you to fuck me," he repeats. 

Jon's sits up on his haunches, jeans pushed halfway down his thighs. Spencer's vision still isn't very clear, but it's enough to see the glassy, far-off look in Jon's eyes as he runs them over his body. Spencer's stomach feels a bit funny suddenly, his gut churning; maybe those last shots weren't such a good idea.

Kicking his jeans off the rest of the way, Jon slides back on top of him, cocks sliding together. Spencer moans into Jon's mouth, tugging at his hair. Why haven't they done this sooner? 

"We don't have lube or condoms or anything," Jon murmurs. 

"S'okay." Even through the alcohol, Spencer can hear Ryan yelling at him, loud and clear. He pushes him to the back of his brain, and lifts a leg to around Jon's waist, rolling himself into his hips. "Fuck me."

Jon grunts, mouth slipping from Spencer's and running down his chin. "Spencer ― " he begins to protest shakily, but Spencer grinds his hips against his one more, and he instantly shuts up. 

Jon replaces his mouth with his fingers, until Spencer takes the hint and sucks two into his mouth. They taste like beer. "Make sure they're really wet."

Spencer obeys, layering them with spit until he nods, and Jon removes them. Hiking his leg further up his waist, Jon reaches between Spencer's legs, searching. "I'mma do it," he warns, and Spencer's breath catches as he nods feverishly. His stomach is feeling worse by the minute, but he pushes it to the back of his mind, along with Ryan's nagging.

Jon pushes a finger in, and Spencer stiffens, choking out a breath. It doesn't hurt, but it's definitely weird; intrusive. "S'okay?" Jon asks, and Spencer nods, swallowing as something churns and twists inside his stomach. 

He vaguely feels aware as Jon's finger moves inside of him, his skin prickling with sweat. There's another lurch in his stomach, worse this time, and Spencer suddenly feels very, very sick, like something is coming alive underneath his skin. 

Spencer instantly sits up, head inches from knocking into Jon's. He pushes his chest, and Jon's finger slips from inside him as he swallows back the bile creeping up his throat. "I think I'm going to be sick." 

Jon freezes. "Shit. You're kidding me."

Spencer shakes his head wildly, and rolls out from underneath Jon, staggering off the bed. He runs towards the garbage can next to the dresser just in time. It's mostly all liquid and a bit of leftover fries from dinner, and a little misses, running down the outside of the basket. 

Suddenly Jon's front is fitted along his back, hand reaching out and brushing his hair from his face. His boxers are back on, but Spencer can feel his erection straining against the material and pressing along his lower back. He takes one deep breath, and promptly throws up again. All sexy feelings are gone.

Jon presses a feathered kiss to his spine, still breathing heavily through his nose. Spencer wonders how many levels of pathetic he's been brought down to now that he's naked and puking in a little kid’s trashcan at his very first house party. "Oh my god," he moans, and Jon pets his hair. 

"Get it out," he says reassuringly. "It's probably better now than tomorrow."

Spencer groans louder, knocking his head against the rim of the basket. 

*

Ryan takes one look at Spencer, splayed out across the stairs with his head against the banister, and wrinkles his nose. 

Spencer's stomach is acting up again, and the only thing he can think about doing is curling up in a ball underneath his covers and crying for his mommy. He's starting to think that maybe drinking isn't so fun, after all. 

"No way is he coming home with me. My dad would flip."

"Well, he can't go home like this," Jon points out.

"My dad would flip," he repeats. Behind him, Tom drops his head and shoves his hands inside his pockets. 

Jon sighs, running his hands through his hair as he looks back at Spencer, conflicted. "I guess he can stay with me." He shrugs. 

Ryan eyes him, hesitantly. "I don't know…" 

"Ryan." Jon looks at him, unblinking. "It's not like I'm going to molest him like this. I think you can trust me. Plus, someone needs to be with him to make sure he doesn't puke in his sleep."

Spencer doesn't have the energy to argue with either one of them, so he catches their attention with a loud groan instead, holding onto his stomach. "We leave?" he manages to get out. 

They both turn to look at him, Ryan nibbling on his lip and sighing. "Fine. Okay. Whatever." He shoots a look at Jon, eyes narrows and finger pointed threateningly. "You better not try anything."

Rolling his eyes, Jon moves to the staircase, and scoops Spencer up into his arms, bridal style. Spencer has the vague sense to feel embarrassed, but that's gone a moment later when he rolls his head back against Jon's shoulder, eyes slipping shut. 

He doesn't realize he had passed out until he's tucked snugly underneath the covers, Jon fitted along his back, palm pressed against his belly. 

*

The next time Spencer wakes up, sunlight is pouring in through the blinds. Next to him, Jon is sprawled out like a starfish, arm slung over his chest. He only has a moment to savour the feeling of waking up next to him, his body radiating heat and sending butterflies to his stomach, before there's a sudden sharp ache in his head, shooting throughout his entire body. His gut churns, jumping and seemingly coming alive underneath the skin. He groans, feeling the nausea wash over him. Maybe those weren't butterflies, after all. 

Jon and he are fully clothed at least. That's a start. 

He lasts a total of five seconds before he's jumping out of bed, knocking Jon's arm from his chest and racing into the washroom across the hall. When he pukes (and pukes, and pukes) it's all liquid, and it makes him wonder how much he could've possibly drank the night before. It's all a blur to him. 

Jon appears at the door in his Tweety boxers and oversized t-shirt, rubbing his bleary eyes while yawning. Spencer hates how healthy he looks.

"What the hell did I drink last night?" he whines, and pushes his cheek against the toilet seat, feeling tears prickle from underneath his eyelids. If there's one thing Spencer hates most in this world, it's being sick. He wants his mom. "Poison?" 

Jon laughs, kneeling on the floor next to him. "You don't know the half of it."

Spencer groans, lifting his head as the nausea creeps up his throat once again. He mostly dry heaves this time, which is nasty, but at least it's not the strong liquid that burns its way up his throat and nose. 

Sliding closer, Jon wraps an arm around his waist and kisses the side of his neck affectionately. "My poor baby." If Spencer wasn't busy hugging the toilet bowl he'd punch Jon for the mocking grin against his skin. He makes a mental note to do that later when his whole body doesn't feel like unravelling. 

Jon pulls a wad of toilet paper from the roll, handing it to Spencer before standing up. In the cabinet behind the mirror he takes out a bottle of aspirin, the pills rattling against the plastic. Taking one himself, he drinks it down with a cup of tap water, Adam's Apple vibrating as he swallows. He hands it to Spencer after, along with two pills, and he gratefully takes it even though he's fairly positive it's Jon's rinsing cup. It tastes like toothpaste.

"You done now, you think?" 

Spencer looks at him from where he's bent over the toilet. "I hope so." He moans. 

"Let's go back to bed. It's like seven in the morning." He rubs his hand over his eyes, shoulder against the doorframe. "I'll put a puke bucket next to the bed, just in case."

Spencer nods weakly, face still against the toilet seat. He feels so crappy that he doesn't even care how unsanitary it is. "Do I even want to know what happened last night?" he asks while Jon helps him up from the floor. 

"Not now, no." 

He groans as Jon pushes the lever on the toilet. "I'm sure most of the puke is gone now," he says. "You puked enough last night that I didn't think you had anything left in you."

He closes his eyes and tries to remember back to the night before, to anything. He comes up with nothing but blurry images mixed together into a confusing haze. He doesn't know what was real or what was a dream, and he finds that he doesn't really want to know, anyway. 

Back in his room, Jon tucks him underneath the blankets, pulling them up to Spencer's chin like his mother used to do to him when he was a child. He giggles, feeling a twinge of shame mixed with affection as Jon slides under the covers next to him, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle. "Ryan didn't want you to come home with me last night," he murmurs into his shoulder. "He thought I was going to take advantage of your unconscious body."

Spencer laughs, immediately regretting it as his stomach churns uncomfortably. He settles with knocking his nose against Jon's instead. "That's Ryan for you."

Chuckling, Jon curls his head into the nook where Spencer's neck meets his shoulder, eyelashes tickling his skin. "Okay, going back to sleep now," he murmurs sleepily. 

"Mhm," Spencer mumbles back. "Good idea. 

He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of Jon's warm breath against his neck.

*

"So… should I ask?" 

Across the table from him, Jon spoons Rice Krispies into his mouth, milk dribbling down his chin. Spencer stares at the cereal in disgust. Even the thought of food repulses him. He doubts he'll ever eat again. 

Jon cracks a grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Probably not. Can you remember anything?" 

"Not really," he admits uneasily, laying a hand across his forehead. The aspirins had helped with his headache a little, but not by much. "I remember beer-bonging." Jon laughs, and raises the bowl to his lips, drinking back the leftover milk. Spencer glares at him in envy. "How are you not hung-over right now? I hate you."

"First of all, I didn't get nearly as trashed as you did," he replies, listing them off on his fingers. "Second of all, I also didn't mix my alcohol like you. Thirdly, I haven't been hung-over since the tenth grade." He smiles matter-of-factly, leaning back in his chair. 

"Okay." Spencer takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes, preparing himself. "Tell me what I did."

"Oh man," Jon says, eyes rolling to the ceiling in thought. There's a quirk to his lips though, turned up in amusement, and Spencer's caught between mortification and wanting to punch him in the face. "Where to start?" he muses. 

Spencer groans louder, and drops his forehead against the table, immediately regretting it as pain flares up in his brain. 

"Well, we almost had sex. In a kid's bedroom. Before you started puking."

Spencer blanches, gulping. Slowly, as if not sure he wants to know or not, he asks, "How far did we get?" 

Jon holds up a single finger, smiling impishly. 

"You mean ― We ― Oh my god." Spencer buries his face inside his hands, skin burning in mortification. Jon had his finger inside him, and he doesn't even remember? "Okay, okay," he says hurriedly, needing a subject change, "moving on."

"Um. Well, you also kept disappearing on me. This one time I found you dancing quite suggestively to Lady Gaga in front of a decently large crowd. It was very Julia Stiles of you."

"I hate you," Spencer whines through clenched teeth. He might as well just kill himself now, get it over with; nothing can be more painful than school will be Monday morning.

"Hey," Jon interjects, shrugging his shoulders, "I tried to get you to stop." Suddenly he cracks up, slamming his hand down onto the table. "Oh," he says, still laughing, "you totally told Brendon that he's not even good-looking, he just has a nice ass."

Spencer slams his head back against the table, once, twice, three times, and doesn't care about the searing pain that shoots through his brain. Maybe if he hits it hard enough, it'll erase his memory. He should've never gotten Jon to tell him. 

He's never going to school again. Ever, ever, ever. As soon as he gets home he's begging his mom to home school him from this moment on. 

"Oh, oh!" Jon exclaims as if recalling something just as horrifying and life-ending. At that moment, Spencer has never been so thankful as his phone begins to vibrate against the table, Ryan's name flashing on the screen. He'd take Ryan's bitching over this any day. 

However, instead of getting his ear bitched off like he expected, Ryan explodes with an, "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!" in a high-pitched, overly excited tone that he's never heard on Ryan before. It doesn't do much to help his migraine. 

Pulling his phone from his ear, he checks the screen to make sure that it is, in fact, his usual, single-toned best friend. "Um, hi."

"You'll never guess what happened last night!" he squeals. 

"What?"

"Guess!"

"God, I don't know," Spencer groans. "My brain isn't functioning enough to talk. Please just tell me or we'll be here all day."

"Fine, whatever," he huffs. "You suck." Spencer rolls his eyes, not able to get in a proper response before Ryan's already launching into it. "Okay, okay, so last night when you ditched me ― which thanks a load for that, by the way."

"Sorry," Spencer mumbles, guilty. "I was really drunk."

"Yeah, I noticed."

There's a pause, long enough for Spencer's guilt to multiply. Maybe getting trashed and ditching your best friend at a party where he knows absolutely no one isn't the best move ever. "Anyways, so, while you were gone Pete showed up, and ― " 

"Pete showed up?" Spencer repeats, interrupting. Across the table, Jon sits up, eyebrows shooting up. Ryan's excited voice combined with Pete Wentz can't possibly be a good thing, and Spencer doesn't know if he can deal with this again. Ryan couldn't possibly be stupid enough to fall for it all over again, could he? "Ryan, don't tell me ― "

"No," he snaps. "What? Fuck, no. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No?"

Jon looks well prepared to go out and kick Pete's ass if need be, and when Spencer shakes his head at him, he relaxes, sinking back into the chair. Spencer kind of really loves him sometimes. 

"No, okay, just listen. So, he was there and was like, hitting on that Marissa chick. You know, in my grade? Whatever. Anyways, so since you and Jon left, Tom was hanging out with me and I guess he noticed that I was like, well, you know, a little upset or whatever. It seemed like he kind of knew who Pete was. Anyways, so I really wanted to leave because like, I just ― you know, I couldn't see him doing the same thing he did to me to this girl. But then Tom just like, went up and told him he should leave because no one wanted him there," he rambles, gaining an octave with every word. "And then Pete was like ― I don't know. He pretty much called me a slut and asked if I, um ― if I was easy for him." He clears his throat, awkwardly, and Spencer wishes he could reach through the phone and wrap him into a giant hug. He looks up at Jon, reconsidering telling him to beat him up, after all. "But, so yeah, he said that and then…" He lets out a small noise, something between a squeal and a cheer, and finishes with, "and then Tom totally punched him!" 

"What?" Spencer asks, astonished, the corner of his mouth turning up into a grin. "Oh my god! Tom's got balls!

"I know!" Ryan gushes. Spencer can picture him bouncing across his room, grin splitting his face open. He's not like this enough, and Spencer has a feeling that it might change. "Oh my god, I didn't even know what to do, Spencer. I was in shock, and I had to like, force myself from jumping him after."

"So, I guess you believe me now when I say he likes you."

"Pretty much, yeah." There's a brief pause, and he says happily, "We're going on a date tonight."

"Shit, Ryan." Spencer beams. "That's awesome." 

Jon's looking curiously at him from where he sits perched at the end of his seat, mouthing, "What? What is it?" 

Spencer grins harder.

"I know!" He sighs dreamily. "I've never had someone defend my honour before."

"Jon's never even defended my honour," Spencer points out, and Jon pouts at him from across the table.

"You don't think, like." There's another pause on the line, and he sighs before saying, "You don't think he just asked me out because of what Pete said, do you? That I'm easy?" 

Spencer rolls his eyes. If Ryan was there right now, he'd totally be punching him in the neck for being a big, stupid idiot. "No, Ryan. It's not true, trust me. It was a long time coming." He wait's a beat, then says, as carefully as he can, "Just don't like ― " He stops himself, remembering Jon's there and tries again. "You know, wait for awhile."

"I know that," he says, softly. "Trust me, I've learned."

"Okay, well. That's awesome. I'm really happy for you, Ry."

"I'm happy for myself." 

Spencer laughs. "Good."

Jon's still staring at him from across the table, clearly impatient with his eyebrows shot up in the air. Spencer sighs into the phone. "Sorry, Ry. Jon's giving me the look. I'll call you when I get home, okay?" 

"Okay, sure," he replies easily, and Spencer resists the urge to once again check his phone to make sure it's Ryan that he's talking to. It's never been that easy before. Maybe this Tom thing will be better then he had ever expected. 

The second he hangs up, Jon instantly perks and asks, "So, what was that about?" 

"Tom punched Pete out, and then asked Ryan out on a date." He grins stupidly. This means they can do cutesy couple things like go on double dates, and Spencer can bitch at Ryan when he ditches him for Tom. It's going to be awesome.

Jon's eyebrows shoot up in shock, and a moment passes before he's chuckling and shaking his head in amusement. "It's about time. Shit, I wish I could've seen it."

"Me too," Spencer agrees wistfully. He pictures Tom punching Pete in his stupid, asshole face and smiles. It's a nice image. 

"Took them long enough, huh?" Jon's foot nudges his ankle underneath the table, sliding up his bare leg. 

"Pretty much. Our best friends are pretty lame, aren't they?" Spencer asks reflectively.

"Basically."

Just as Spencer's considering what to do for their double-date, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock, and Jon's parents voices muffled through the backdoor. It flies open, his parents appearing on the other side with grocery bags in hand, sounding as if they're bitching about the neighbour’s dogs. Jon's mom looks up, eyes landing on Spencer in surprise. "Oh, hi Spencer." He takes this as a good sign, because at least that means she didn't see him stumbling around drunk last night. "I didn't know you were here."

"Hi, Mr. ― I mean, Joanne and Ray," he corrects, cheeks flushing pink as Jon mumbles his own hello. They've insisted that Spencer call them by their first names the past few times he's been over, but it's still something he's struggling to get used to. 

They both offer him a smile, and drop the bags onto the counter, boxes and cans spilling over the top. Spencer likes Jon's parents; they remind him of Jon himself, with their warm smiles, welcoming personalities and wry humour. Sometimes he even feels more comfortable with them than he does his own, especially lately. Ever since that condom incident his parents seem to tiptoe around him, giving him long, funny looks across the dinner table as if how he eats his broccoli determines whether he's a virgin or not. It's creepy and uncomfortable and all around awkward, and Spencer wishes they would just treat him like a person again. He's a teenage boy, after all ― almost sixteen ― with hormones and a hot boyfriend; what had they been expecting? That he'd remain virginal and pure until he was thirty? 

"You know we love to have Spencer over, Jon," Joanne starts, unpacking a few cans of soup from the bag, "but I'd appreciate it if you would tell me he's staying over first. You know I always feel a little uneasy about your boyfriends sleeping over. Sleeping in your bed too, I presume." Spencer shifts uncomfortably in his seat, embarrassed, eyes focusing on the table. "As I'm sure any mother would be. Do Spencer's parents know he slept here last night?" 

No, and they can't ever. If they ever found out he'd spent the night at Jon's, there would be no way in hell he'd be able to leave the house until he was twenty-seven, at the very least. "It was a last minute thing, mom," Jon says, thankfully leaving out the part where Spencer was drunk beyond oblivion and staying at Ryan's was out of the question. He's pretty sure Jon's parents like him, and he'd like to keep it that way. "I didn't think you'd mind, and I didn't want to wake you up to find out. Plus, he had nowhere else to stay. All we did was come home and sleep."

"We'll I'd sure hope so," she replies, sliding a box of macaroni into the cupboard.

Jon rolls his eyes, and Spencer sinks further into the seat, hoping to disappear. He kind of feels like dying right now. 

"Next time we'd just appreciate it if you told us first. That's all, bud," Ray says, hitting him over the head with a bag of spinach. Jon makes a face, and Spencer bites back the giggles. 

"Anyways, as fun as this conversation is," Jon says awkwardly, sliding out of his chair, "Me and Spence are going upstairs now."

Spencer scrambles out of his seat after him, shooting his parents his sweetest smile, just because he still wants them to like him after all. "It was nice seeing you!" 

Jon snorts, and Spencer kicks his heel as Joanne calls behind them, "You too, Spencer." And then, "Don't do anything we wouldn't! The walls are thin!" 

Jon groans as Spencer feels his face burst into flames. It's bad enough when his own parents say things like that, never mind Jon's, whom he barely knows. "You'd think I was twelve the way they treat me, not seventeen," he mutters bitterly as he makes his way up the stairs, Spencer trailing behind. 

He rolls his eyes. His boyfriend can be such a whiney brat sometimes. "Oh, whatever. I doubt my parents will even let my boyfriend sleep in the same bed as me when I'm twenty."

Shrugging, Jon reaches the top of the stairs and stops, turning to face Spencer. He sends him a goofy smile, head tossed to the side and reaches out to wrap his arms around his neck. "Which'll be me, right?" he teases. 

Spencer has no delusions that Jon and him will get married in Paris, adopt five kids and live happily ever, as some couples his age like to think, but still. That doesn't mean it's not a nice thought. "Sure," he says, laughing as Jon smiles crookedly at him, leaning forward to trap his lips in a kiss. 

Knocking his nose against Spencer's, he murmurs, "Good."

*

Five minutes into school on Monday, and Spencer's already considering marching into the science lab and chugging a vile of Hydrogen Sulfide. 

"You're being a drama queen," Jon insists, sighing as they reach Spencer's locker. "Everyone does embarrassing shit at parties, and no one even remembers by the time Monday comes."

Spencer shoots him a disbelieving look before starting on his lock. 

"Seriously, do you really think there weren't other people there who did just as embarrassing things?" 

"That's different," Spencer argues difficulty, lock popping open. "They're not the loser sophomore that's dating Jon Walker."

"Oh, come on." Jon scoffs. "Give me a break."

"It's true," he replies, defiantly. 

"Hey, look, it's our very own head-boy!" A voice yells from behind them, and Spencer turns to see a pack of jocks from the football team who all appear to be staring straight at him, laughing and slapping each other high-fives. Spencer blinks, mortified. 

"You gonna show us that thing you can do with your tongue now?" Another calls. 

They exchange more high-fives, keeling over and laughing like this is the funniest thing ever spoken. Spencer doesn't have a damn clue what they're talking about, but he can feel his own heart beating in his ears, regardless.

Jon scowls, flipping them off as they head down the hall, but Spencer can see the hint of amusement in his eyes. He hates him.

Once they disappear around the corner, he slowly turns to face Jon who now has his face in his hands, shaking his head. He blinks, and then swallows. "I don't want to know, do I?" he asks, carefully, bewildered and a slightly scared. Okay, terrified is more like it.

Jon pulls his hand from his face, exposing his pained expression. "You may or may not have told them you have awesome cock-sucking abilities." 

Spencer feels the blood drain from his face and drop to his feet. That Hydrogen Sulfide has never sounded so appealing.

Finally, he gains enough function in his brain to pull his locker door open and promptly step inside, closing it behind him. It seems like a good place to live for the remainder of his sad, sorry life. 

He wonders if maybe he has an evil twin out there who drugged him and stuffed him in the closet for the night while he ran around ruining his life. After all, there is no way in hell Spencer would be telling people ― douchey football players, at that ― that he's good at giving head, when it's certainly the furthest thing from the truth. Even drunk Spencer has enough sense to know that gagging and drooling all over a dick, and then spitting on the car seat does not qualify as awesome head. 

Suddenly the door is opening, and the light from the hallway floods into the small, dark space that he was beginning to enjoy for those short moments. Jon smiles sympathetically. "It's not so bad," he says, but Spencer can tell he's struggling to believe it himself. His boyfriend is a horrible liar. 

"I'm quitting school and joining a convent," he moans, hitting the back of his head against the metal.

Jon bites his lip, holding back a sheepish grin. "Um. I think you have to be a girl for that."

Spencer throws his hands over his face dramatically, groaning. "Just let me be!" he cries. "Let me stay in here and wallow in my misery until I die."

Jon rolls his eyes. "You're in idiot."

"I'm also head-boy," he shoots back dryly. "You realize that's going to stay with me for the rest of my high school years?!" 

"Spencer." He sighs, impatient. "Can you please stop being a crazy person and get out of your locker? People are staring."

"Good," he replies, difficultly. "I need to get used to it."

"Spencer," Jon repeats, warningly, through a tightened jaw. 

Spencer huffs and groans, but he steps outside of the locker anyway, arms crossed over his chest. "I hate you," he hisses. There's a couple girls standing a few lockers down, shooting him weird looks and giggling from behind their hands. 

Spencer shoots them a fierce look, elbows back like, what are you looking at? and they giggle louder before scurrying off.

Jon holds his arms out, pity warm in his eyes. Caving, Spencer allows him to pull him into his chest, hand stroking through the back of his hair. It's just a small gesture, something he gets all the time, but there's something in it that makes him feel remarkably better, tension releasing from his neck and shoulders. He breathes in heavily, nose brushing against Jon's collar. "If it makes you feel any better," Jon murmurs consolingly, "in tenth grade I got really drunk and dirty-danced with the host's forty year-old, and fairly large mother. I got called Al Reynolds and Big Papa for a month before one day it just ― blew away." 

"A month?" Spencer whines into his shoulder. 

"Cheer up." He kisses the corner of his mouth and pulls away, patting his head with sympathy.

Spencer pouts just as the bell sounds from above, and he instantly reaches for Jon, grabbing onto him and holding him close. "No, you can't leave me," he says desperately.

Jon laughs, rolling his eyes once again, and manages to pry himself from Spencer's grip. He rests his hand on his neck, bending down to place a peck onto his nose before kissing him full on the mouth. Spencer kisses him back regardless, because he can't not. "You'll be fine," Jon murmurs, and kisses him once more, his stubble brushing against Spencer's chin. 

Pulling apart with one last, quick peck, Jon starts off down the hallway despite Spencer's protest and last attempt to try and pull him back. "I'll see you at lunch," he calls, smiling wickedly at him behind his shoulder.

Spencer pouts, and slams his locker shut.

* 

"Spence, I need to talk to you." Jon looks nervous, to say the least, his lip nibbled between his teeth and eyes shifting, never meeting Spencer's. He's been pacing across his room for the past five minutes while Spencer stares up at him from his bed, worry rapidly increasing.

He swallows, feeling the color drain from his face. The only thing that's running through his mind is, oh god, no, please don't break up with me. 

Jon doesn't say anything, instead he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, tossing it onto his lap. "There," he says awkwardly, folding his arms across his chest and looks away.

"What is it?" Spencer asks, staring down at it with unease. 

"Read it."

Slowly, Spencer takes the piece of paper, still warm from Jon's pocket, and begins to unfold it. The good news is that at least Jon wouldn't be breaking up with him on paper. 

Right? 

Congratulations! It is our greatest pleasure to offer you admission to UCLA for the fall quarter 2010.

"UCLA?" Spencer reads, swallowing. "As in Los Angeles?" 

Jon nods.

Spencer stares down it, heart dropping, and reads over the first sentence again and again and again until it’s no longer words but a garbled mess instead. When he looks back up at Jon, he meets his gaze, looking guilty. "I didn't even know you applied." 

He shrugs. "I didn't want you to get upset in case I didn't even get in. I applied to the U of Chicago, but…"

"Chicago?" he repeats, deadpanned. Jon's face falls, expression growing stronger with guilt. He opens his mouth, but Spencer beats him to it, snapping, "You can't fucking go to Chicago, Jon!" 

Jon shuts his mouth, and Spencer crumples the letter, throwing it onto the bed beside him. He doesn't care if he's being a brat. Jon can't leave him. He can't go to school miles away. This college thing had never crossed his mind before, Jon never having brought it up, and Spencer had assumed that he was either going to one here or just not going at all. This isn't fair; how can he just spring this on him now?

"Did you get accepted?"

"To Chicago?"

"Yeah."

Jon shakes his head. "Not yet. I should be getting it soon though."

Spencer makes a noise from the back of his throat, something between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face into his hands, digging his fingernails into his skull. "Jon. You can't just ― "

The bed dips beside him, Jon folding along his side. "Spencer," he says, gently, running a hand down his back. "It's just a letter, okay? I don't even what I'm going to do yet. I just thought you should know."

"But it's Chicago, Jon," he says, whine muffled into his hands. "Do you even understand how far that is?"

"I know that." He sighs, moving a strand of hair out of Spencer's eyes. "I probably won't even go there. I might not even be accepted."

Spencer shakes his head. He doesn't feel any less miserable. "LA is far too."

"It's four hours away. It's not like we wouldn't see each other."

"Why can't you just stay here?" Spencer asks difficultly, lifting his head to meet Jon's gaze. "What about your parents, and Tom? Your band? What about me?" 

"Spencer," Jon begins regretfully, but he stops short, not knowing what else to say. 

Spencer knows he's being that guy. That annoying, clingy boyfriend, but he doesn't care. What is he going to do without Jon there everyday? Especially now that Ryan and Tom are a thing, who is he going to have? 

"Please stop getting all worked up over this. I don't even know for sure," he insists. "This is why I didn't want to tell you."

"Well how did you expect me to react after telling me you might be moving miles away?" he demands in irritation. "If the tables were turned you'd be freaking out."

Jon snaps his mouth shut, caught. "It's not like this isn't hard for me," he says after a moment. "It's not like I like the idea of leaving you and my family and friends, but I can't stay in Vegas all my life."

Spencer groans, hating that he's right. Ever since he was young and graduation seemed like an even remote possibility, he’d planned to get out of here as soon as he could. He can't expect Jon to do any differently just because he doesn't want him to go.

"I just ― I'm going to miss you."

Jon tucks his head onto Spencer's shoulder, lips brushing against his neck. "I know, and I'll miss you too, but it's not even certain yet."

He sighs, slowly nodding. 

"So please, stop stressing out."

"I'll try," he murmurs, and Jon smiles softly into his skin.

He thinks that it might be a bit easier said than done.

 

* ~ *

 

Spencer doesn't feel any older. Especially not with a room full of people decked in ridiculous party hats, singing happy birthday from the top of their lungs, with a large, colourful cake with sparklers and a lit up 16 sitting in front of him. He thinks it's a bit of a rip that he never feels much older. It's his sweet sixteenth, after all; they're supposed to feel extra special, aren't they? 

He closes his eyes, wishing for a new drum kit and blows out the candles. When he opens them, Jon's nudging him, feigning offence as he says, "Hey, who are those two other guys?"

Spencer rolls his eyes, smiling as he blows out the remaining three candles. The room breaks out into applause, like blowing candles is some kind of hardship. Spencer feels silly and embarrassed, but he kind of likes it anyway. Jon presses a kiss to his cheek, and Spencer turns to catch his lips in a chaste kiss, momentarily forgetting his parents and eighty year-old grandmother sitting across the table from them.

"Eww!" Spencer's ten year-old sisters, Crystal and Jackie, call from across the table, wrinkling their small noses. 

The room laughs, and Jon pulls away, blushing, but he appears pleased with himself, anyway. 

Spencer's dad hands him the knife, giving him the honour of cutting the cake. On his right, Ryan is already gravitating towards it, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. Tom sits next to him, attention focused only on him, eyes thick with love and affection, like they have been since they first sat down nearly an hour ago. In fact, Spencer can't think of a time in these past two months that Tom hasn't looked at him like that. He's happy for Ryan, of course, but it’s taken time getting used to someone looking at his best friend like he single-handedly hung the stars. 

He hands the first piece to Jon, who shakes his head and pushes it back in front of him. "Birthday boy first," he insists, taking the knife from Spencer to divide the rest. 

Spencer rolls his eyes, but picks up his fork without further argument. Who's he to say no to birthday cake? 

Afterwards, everyone moves into the living room for presents, but Ryan pulls him back, looking around to make sure no one's still lingering around. Spencer raises an eyebrow, trying not to appear too antsy. His presents are out there. Calling his name. "Are you still planning on sleeping with Jon tonight?" he asks, quietly. 

Spencer swallows, feeling his heart begin to pick up, and that familiar nauseous feeling that comes whenever he thinks about it, flare up in his stomach. "I ― I don't know," he mumbles. He assumes it's probably not normal for a guy to be so terrified about having sex, and he's not exactly sure why he is either, but he just is.

Ryan's eyes flick over him, calculatingly. "You don't have to be scared, you know."

Ryan slept with Tom precisely four weeks after they had started dating. At first Spencer was concerned, scared it might be too soon again, that it would be Pete all over, but a day had passed and nothing had changed. In fact, Tom's heart-eyes had managed to grow a size larger, and now, it's nearly impossible to separate the two of them. Spencer's pretty sure that when they're not at school or hanging out with Jon and him, they're fucking. 

Spencer's noticed a subtle, but gradual change in Ryan since he had started dating Tom. It's nothing big really, just a small gleam in his eyes that was never there before, and a sudden maturity, like one day he had woken up and something dawned on him that never had before; something that Spencer's still missing out on, and desperately searching for.

Either way, Spencer's not exactly sure what it is, but he likes it nonetheless.

"I'm not," he lies. 

Ryan gives him a long look, and says, "Jon's not going to dump you."

Spencer feels the heat creep up the back of his neck, eyes darting from Ryan's. It's not that he thinks that exactly, it's just that ― well, he doesn't know, okay? Spencer clears his throat, fidgeting uncomfortably and says, "I kind of want to go open my presents now."

Sighing, Ryan motions his arm towards the door, a look on his face like, be my guest. Spencer never thought the day would come when Ryan would actually be coaxing him into having sex. If anything, he was expecting it to be the other way around. 

In the living room, Spencer takes the empty seat next to Jon on the couch, whose hand immediately falls to his knee. He takes a deep breath, heart pounding in his ribcage. Even as his mother dumps a large present onto his lap, he finds it increasingly hard to focus on anything but Ryan's words and the warm hand placed along his leg.

Across the room, Ryan catches his gaze and holds it. 

*

That night, Jon gets them a suite in a nice hotel near The Strip. It's signed underneath Tom's name since he's not eighteen himself yet, and Spencer can't think outside of how expensive it must've been. Jon insisted he wasn't expecting anything, but there's something about a high-class hotel room that makes him think differently. 

Spencer spends the entire night thinking of the pack of condoms sitting in his overnight bag. He wishes he would've shot down the hotel idea as soon as Jon had brought it up.

They're laying in bed, watching an episode of The Office, hair still wet and smelling of chlorine from the pool, when Jon leans over and kisses him. Spencer can handle this part, he loves this part, and he kisses him back just as earnestly, allowing Jon's tongue to slip in between his lips and run along his.

Jon pushes his shirt up, hand brushing against his hip, and then along his belly. Spencer loves the feeling of Jon's rough fingertips against him, the warm buzzing it leaves underneath his skin when they brush by. 

Spencer didn't tell Jon that he was thinking about doing it tonight, but he's sure he already is, anyway; it has been a long time coming, after all. They'd come close a few times, Jon panting in his ear that he wanted to fuck him, fingers inching between his legs, but Spencer always froze up at the last moment, telling him not now. Jon never said anything, never pushed, but Spencer could tell he was always a little bit annoyed as they finished jerking each other off or exchanged a sloppy blowjob. There's always a bit of tension between them when they're finished that both of them pretend isn't there. 

Jon tugs Spencer's shirt further up his chest, hinting he wants it off, and Spencer obliges, lifting off the mattress, allowing him to pull it over his head. Jon removes his own with a speed he didn't know was possibly, his own barely hitting the floor itself. 

When Jon leans down to kiss him, his tongue meets his a second before their lips do. Jon has never kissed quite this desperate or dirty before, and Spencer has a feeling he knows what that means. Reaching down, Jon palms him through his sweats and Spencer groans, bucking into his hand without constraint. 

"Fuck, you're so hard already," Jon murmurs huskily, lips trailing down to suck a bruise onto his neck. 

Spencer mewls, rolling his head back to grant Jon better access. It's a weakness of his, no matter how much he regrets it the next day when he wakes up to a bruise the size of a golf ball on his neck, vowing he'll never let Jon's mouth come near his neck again. 

He begins to roll his hips against Spencer's thigh, undoing the strings on his sweats. Spencer takes this as a hint as he starts on Jon's, snaking a hand through the slit in his underwear and wrapping a steady hand around his cock. He's pleased to find he's just as hard. 

Jon's mouth stops, eyes slipping back as Spencer lazily begins to jerk him off. It's a weird angle, his wrist beginning to hurt after a moment, but fortunately, Jon moves to straddle him, causing his hand to slip from inside his briefs. He presses a sloppy kiss to Spencer's mouth, breath pouring heavy, before sliding down his chest, tugging his sweats off his hips. Lifting, Spencer allows him to pull them off the rest of the way, cock curved along his belly as Jon tongues his hipbone. 

Spencer's mind is caught somewhere between fuckfuckfuck and noon, and he can't tell which one he means more.

"I wanna fuck you," Jon slurs against his skin, pressing a wet kiss to where his thigh and pelvis meet. "I wanna be inside you. So fucking hot, Spencer."

He could do it right now. Let Jon. He could get it over with. But. But. God, he doesn't know. He doesn't want the pain. He doesn't want to have to compete with Brendon, constantly thinking about how he had done it better. He doesn't want to be bad. He doesn't want Jon to leave him like Pete had done to Ryan. He doesn't ―

Jon's hand smoothes along his thigh, moving closer until Spencer can feel the tip of his finger brush against the cleft of his ass. He swallows, squeezing his eyes shut and rushes out in one, fast syllable, "Jonican't."

He sucks in a breath, feeling his heart ricochet against his ribcage as Jon tenses, and drops his hand. They fall into silence, and Spencer can't hear anything besides his own heavy breathing while Jon keeps his head down, hair hiding his face. 

Spencer feels like such an idiot. Jon's going to hate him.

"I'm sorry," he manages to squeak out after a few moments of utter stillness. "I just ― "

Jon rolls off of him to sit at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Spence suddenly feels cold. And naked. Really naked. "Jon," he tries again, desperate, pulling a pillow onto his lap. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not," he says after a moment.

Spencer bites his lip, and thinks that he actually really is. 

Another long pause falls between them, dragged on and excruciating, and Spencer doesn't know whether he should reach out or not. He considers telling Jon that he changed his mind, that they can do it after all, but then Jon's taking a deep breath and Spencer watches as the muscles in his back expand and then deflate. "I'm not mad," he repeats, firmer this time, slowly lifting his head from his hands. "Just ― " He waves his hand in the air, then motions towards his crotch, "sexually frustrated."

Spencer takes the chance to scoot forward, pressing himself along Jon's back and nudging his forehead against his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I ― I don't know." He takes an unsteady breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'm not ready," he finishes quietly. "This makes me a pathetic girl, doesn't it?"

Jon chuckles softly, and Spencer takes that as a good sign. "No," he mumbles, shaking his head, "it doesn't." He tilts his head to face Spencer, pecking a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm not mad," he says again. "I'm sorry. I don't want to pressure you. Whenever you're ready, it's fine."

He slowly nods, feeling slightly embarrassed and a whole lot pathetic. "I'm sorry," he repeats, ducking his head. 

"It's fine," Jon insists, and leans in for another kiss. 

Spencer's the first to break away, sliding from behind Jon and onto the ground below him. He knows it's not the sex Jon was hoping for, but it's something at least. Spencer likes to think he's gotten exceptionally better over these past couple of months. Not quite enough to master deep-throating, or to consider himself to have 'amazing cock-sucking abilities,' mind you, but better. 

Jon already has his fingers threading through Spencer's hair before his tongue even comes into contact with the tip. Jon's got a nasty habit of bucking into his mouth, making him gag, so Spencer has to hold a hand to his hip, stilling him as much as he can. 

He has him halfway into his mouth, lips stretched over his teeth, when Jon runs a hand over his cheek and pants, "You look so hot like this, you don't even know. Naked and on your knees for me." 

Spencer feels his cheeks heat, remembering a time when the thought of him looking like this for anyone would have him dying of shame. With anyone else, he probably would, but this is Jon and he kind of likes that he can turn him on like this. 

He bobs down lower, just enough that he can feel the tip hit the back of his throat before he's pulling back an inch, slightly gagging. He's improving, slowly. Embarrassingly enough, every time Spencer eats a banana (in the privacy of his own bedroom, of course) he sees how far he can shove it back without gagging. Sometimes, he manages to get it pretty far back there, but it's a different story with a real life, throbbing dick in his mouth. 

Moving his hand to cup Jon's balls, Spencer sucks wetly around the tip, an action he observed from Jon himself. It seems when getting head, Spencer spends more time studying what Jon does than actually sitting back and enjoying it. Even though Jon always seems to enjoy it just fine, Spencer wants to be the best.

Looking up through his eyelashes, he sees Jon with his head tipped back, the line of his throat long and pale, Adam's Apple poking through the skin. "Shit, Spence," he breathes, hips bucking just the slightest, and Spencer lets him until he feels him hit the back of his throat. He smiles in satisfaction when he realizes he doesn't gag. 

His jaw begins to ache near the end, and with the way Jon is puffing, hips jerking without constraint, Spencer assumes that he's close. "Spence, you might want to ― " Jon warns breathlessly, smoothing a hand across his shoulder. 

Spencer ignores him, running his teeth gently along the underside until he's licking around his head, pre-come leaking onto his tongue. He hasn't swallowed before, not really, nothing more than a teaspoon anyway, before he was pulling off and gagging. He plans to this time, however, even if he gags the entire way through. 

"Spencer," Jon repeats desperately, fingers pushing into his hairline. "Spence. I'm gonna come." With one last jerk of his hips, he's doing just that, hot and thick and bitter as it slides down Spencer's throat. 

"Shit, Spence," he grunts as Spencer holds onto his hip with a firmer grip. 

Only when he's completely finished does Spencer pull back, swallowing down the remainder left in his mouth. Jon looks down at him, eyes thick with what he can only consider adoration and desire, and says, a bit breathlessly, "You just swallowed. All of it." 

Spencer nods, scrunching his nose. Jon's always swallowed, ever since the first time in the back of the car, but Spencer appreciates the enthusiasm anyway. He slides down from the bed, straddling Spencer's legs and pushing him down until his back slides against the carpet. From the goofy grin spread across his face as he kicks his pants off the rest of the way, Spencer thinks he might've made up for the no-sex thing. At least, it was enough for it to escape his mind for the time being. 

Jon kisses him, long and hard, hand cupping his cheek. Snaking a hand down, he curls it around Spencer, still semi-hard, causing a strangled noise to slip from the back of his throat. He's surprised that it doesn't take him long to come at all, all over Jon's hand and belly. Jon kisses him through it, before moving down to nibble along his jaw. 

"Thanks, you know," Spencer murmurs after a minute, once the post-orgasm haze has washed over him and he's able to breath again. Jon lifts his head from Spencer's chest, raising a curious eyebrow. "For not like, pressuring me or whatever. I know it's really frustrating for you."

Jon sighs, and rolls onto his back, dropping his head against the carpet. 

"I know Ryan and Tom shoving it in your face doesn't exactly help either," he adds quietly. Jon has never said anything about it, not even an offhand comment, but Spencer knows he thinks about it. Especially after Tom and Ryan showed up at school after a month, clearly well-fucked, and they themselves were already approaching their third. Spencer wants to, he does, and he only wishes he could get over this inane fear of his. 

Jon chuckles, rubbing his hand over his face. "I don't really pay much attention to their sex life, honestly." 

Spencer shrugs, and rolls onto his side, smoothing a hand over his bare chest. There's still come on his belly, cool and drying into flakes against his skin. "I want to," he insists, bending down to kiss his shoulder. He likes the idea of Jon inside him, closer to him than anyone else, but there's something big and huge and ugly that's also there, blocking the way. "But I ― I don't know what's wrong with me, but soon. I promise. I just ― " 

Jon shushes him, reaching up to push a hand through Spencer's bangs. "It's fine. I understand." 

"I feel bad," he murmurs. 

"Well, stop," he insists, looking him in the eye. "People have waited longer for sex. I'm sure I'll live. Plus," he says, smiling cheekily, "your blowjobs aren't a bad consolation." 

Spencer rolls his eyes, laughing as Jon hooks a hand along his hip and pulls him against him. Nudging his nose against Spencer's, he murmurs, "Happy Birthday." 

*

When Spencer arrives at Ryan's the next day, he's surprised to see that he's alone for once. 

"Wow," he whistles in astonishment, looking around the room to make sure Tom isn't hiding in a corner. "What is this? You and Tom separated? Did you get into a fight?" 

Ryan rolls his eyes. "No, asshole. He got a job," he informs, a bitter edge to his tone, clearly not pleased over this. "And for your information, we're not always together."

Spencer laughs, unconvinced. When they first started dating, Spencer would often bug him about not 'spending time with his best friend,' but Ryan would only snort and mumble with great difficulty that he had made his point. "Okay, whatever." 

Looking up from his computer, Ryan runs his eyes over Spencer calculatingly. "You didn't have sex, did you?" 

"Yes," Spencer lies.

Ryan shoots him a dubious look. "Liar."

Sighing in defeat, he sinks down onto the mattress. "How can you even tell just by looking at me?" 

"Because you look like just as much of a pathetic virgin as ever," he replies simply, cracking a vindicated smile.

"I couldn't tell when you had sex with Pete," he points out. 

"That's because you weren't looking for it."

Spencer shoots him the best glare he can conjure up before it crumbles into a pout. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he whines, curling into his chest. "There we were in a nice hotel on my birthday, and I just freaked out again." 

Sighing, Ryan removes himself from his computer chair and approaches Spencer on the bed. He takes a seat, patting his knee in empathy. "It's okay if you're not ready," Ryan says, "but it's another if you're just scared because you don't want to be bad or some stupid shit like that, you know?" 

Spencer says nothing, and bites onto his thumbnail. 

"Trust me," he insists, "you could just lie there and it'd still be good for Jon." He laughs, and Spencer rolls his eyes, burying his face into his hands in embarrassment. "There's nothing really to worry about. It's not like Jon doesn't know you're a virgin. He doesn't expect you to be some master in bed."

"It's not that," Spencer says, and he's not lying. Not really, anyway. 

"Then what is it?" He frowns. "Are you scared?" 

Spencer shakes his head. "No. I don't know. Maybe." He groans, kicking the back of his heel against Ryan's bed frame. "I don't know what it is, but the thought of it just ― I don't know. It scares me. It's so ― final." 

"You're such a chick," Ryan teases affectionately. 

"Shut up," he hisses, cheeks heating. He already knows he is. He knows he's being a complete and total girl about this, and wishes he could be like every other guy out there and be thrilled at the idea of losing his virginity. He just can't help it. "Jon must hate me," he grumbles into his hands.

"I really doubt it," Ryan replies, curling his toes underneath himself. "Jon's a good guy. I'm sure he understands. Plus," he says, nudging him, "it's good this way, you know? At least you know Jon really likes you, and it isn't just sex."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Okay, Dr. Phil," he says dryly, and Ryan knocks him in the arm. 

"What? It's true," he insists. 

Spencer shrugs, sighing. "I guess there's a part of me that's scared it'll turn out bad. Like once I have sex with him he'll be gone."

"Spencer," Ryan says sternly. Spencer refuses to look up, but he can feel Ryan's heavy gaze on him anyway; his cheeks burn in shame for even thinking such a thing. "He is not Pete."

"I know," Spencer says. "I know that, I ― God, I don't know. I can't help it thinking it sometimes, I guess." He groans miserably, brushing the bangs from his eyes. "I think that ― I don't know. That I might be kind of in love with him," he admits bashfully, voice lowered into a whisper. "I don't want to lose him, that's all."

"Aw, Spencer," Ryan gushes, and wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into his side. Spencer blushes harder. 

He hadn't said it out loud yet, barely even in his head, but over these past couple of weeks Spencer's noticed a difference, something so small but yet so huge at the same time. It's something he can't really explain, just a feeling inside his chest and the way his head feels a little lighter whenever Jon's around. It's not all that different to what he's been feeling all along, but he just knows. Maybe he's a naïve teenager, but he thinks this is what they're talking about in those books and movies and songs. He worries Jon isn't quite there though, and the last thing he wants is for his heart to be broken. 

"I'm pretty sure he's in love with you too," Ryan says after a beat. "I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you?" 

Spencer ducks his head, shrugging. Sometimes he'll turn to catch Jon looking at him with a certain fondness in his eyes, along something else that he's never been quite able to place. It always leaves him with a swooping feeling inside his stomach, and he tries not to think too far into it, in case it doesn't mean what he hopes. Jon hasn't said the words, but then again, neither has Spencer. 

"I mean it." He nudges his forehead against Spencer's shoulder, breathing in through his t-shirt. Spencer kind of loves his best friend a lot sometimes, even if he can be a complete asshole the other three-quarters of the time. 

"Okay," Spencer says, softly.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the words replaying in Spencer's head while Ryan's forehead remains pressed against his arm, warm breath soaking in through his shirt. When Ryan sits up, a silly grin on his face, he says, "Can we play videogames now?" 

Spencer laughs, shoving his shoulder. "Okay, loser."

He grins wider, getting up from his bed to press the power on his Nintendo. "Just so you know," he says, tossing him a controller, "I'm not going to take pity on you and let you win."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Okay, thanks."

He wins three times in a row, anyway. 

*

When Ryan gets to their usual cafeteria table the next day, Tom at his side, he's got a grin from ear to ear and excitement glowing in his eyes. "Guess what," he says the second his butt hits the seat. 

"What?" 

"Brendon has no friends!"

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, and next to Ryan, Tom shakes his head, sighing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he has no friends," he repeats, still grinning as he practically bounces in his seat. Spencer would feel bad for his own excitement bubbling inside his chest if it weren't for the fact that it's Brendon.

"No shit!" 

"You guys," Jon sighs from beside him, interrupting Ryan before he can comment, "don't be mean."

Spencer turns to stare at him, deadpanned. "Give me a break, Jon. It's Brendon. He deserves it." 

He sighs once more, but says nothing, caught between knowing he's right and still not agreeing. He meets Tom's eyes from across the table, and shakes his head. 

Ignoring him, Spencer turns back to Ryan, and leans forward in his chair, peaking with interest. "Tell me more."

"Okay, so I only heard bits and pieces of it in my classes all morning, but basically what I got was that William and Jack were sick of him being a complete bitch to them and decided they didn't want to be his friend anymore," he explains. "And I mean, without them, who else wants to be his friend?" 

"Not me."

"Exactly."

"It's about time," Spencer replies, dryly, rolling his eyes. "As if it took them that long to realize. Karma, I tell you.

"No kidding." Ryan nods in agreement. His gaze turns to Tom and Jon, noting their silence and asks, "What? You guys don't think so?" 

"I don't know," Tom replies slowly, eyes briefly flicking to Jon's before landing on Ryan's. "It probably is, but I'm sure he's going through a hard enough time as it is right now. I just don't see why you'd have to make it any more."

"He's tried to make Spencer's life a living hell for the past three months," Ryan points out, scowling. 

He shrugs uncomfortably. "I know that, and it was a really shitty move on his part, along with many others. I just ― I don't know." He shrugs again, glancing at Jon once more with a helpless look in his eyes. He doesn't offer any though, his gaze remaining glued to the tray of food below him. "I guess I just feel bad for him. I know he comes off as a bitch most of the time, but there's a reason for it, you know? If you got to know him he's not always that bad."

Ryan scoffs, and rolls his eyes. "Whatever. He's been nothing but a bitch and he deserves whatever he gets dealt to him. Maybe this will make him realize how to be a decent human-being for once in his life."

Spencer turns to look at Jon, gazing at him calculatingly. He always wonders what's running through Jon's mind at times like this. How he can remain so civilized and mature over the situation, even after all that Brendon's done. Why he can never quite defend him or stick up to Brendon the way Spencer sometimes wishes he would. 

When Spencer looks up, Ryan's staring at him with an unimpressed expression, eyebrow raised as his gaze shifts between him and Jon. Spencer shrugs, knowing what he's thinking. Ryan's been known to comment on how Jon doesn't stick up for him enough when it comes to Brendon, that he needs to 'grow a pair,' but Spencer's always shrugged it off. He knows it's just how Jon is; he isn't confrontational, and Spencer's accepted that. 

"Anyway," Spencer starts, breaking the awkward silence, "moving on…"

Tom and Jon agree, shoulders visibly relaxing, Jon finally lifting his gaze. Ryan, however, doesn't look anymore impressed as he sits back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. It might be a bit too much, Spencer not really caring himself, but he appreciates the support, anyway. 

After the bell rings, signalling the end of lunch, Ryan tugs Spencer over and mutters into his ear, "I still think he needs to grow a pair."

Rolling his eyes, Spencer shoots him an agitated look. Ryan makes a face back, a smile to his lips, wandering off behind Tom. "It's true!" he calls, and Spencer flips him off behind his back. 

*

Spencer pinches himself, three, four times until he realizes that it is Brendon who's standing next to Jon, chatting and laughing away like this is normal. By the looks of it, Spencer's almost scared that it might be. 

He gets that Brendon is friendless at the moment, but does that mean it's suddenly okay for him to start scamming on his boyfriend? Isn't there a rule written somewhere that boyfriends aren't allowed to talk to crazy exes? If there isn't, Spencer thinks there definitely should be. 

He considers walking right by, pretend he doesn't notice the two of them chatting away like the best of friends. However, that plan falls short when Spencer barely makes it two inches past them and Jon's reaching out, wrapping a hand around his arm and pulling him back. "Spencer," he says, easily, and Spencer frowns between him and Brendon, waiting or an explanation. He's not that guy; the crazy, possessive boyfriend, but he just doesn't understand why he has to be talking to Brendon Urie of all fucking people. 

"Me and Brendon were just talking about how weird it is that I'm graduating soon." He wraps an arm around Spencer's shoulder, holding tight. He usually likes it when Jon does that, the perfect crook where his elbow bends that he seems to be made for, but now it only makes him feel uncomfortable, Brendon's scrutinizing eyes on them.

"Mm, yeah. Definitely." Spencer understands the awkward position that Jon's put in, between the boyfriend and the ex, but sometimes he wishes he would at least acknowledge the fact that they've engaged in their own World War numerous times before. 

Spencer catches Brendon's gaze and holds it for a second, three, until Brendon's the one to look away, flicking them back to Jon and then down the hall. "Anyway," he tightens the grip on his binder, moving a strand of dark hair from his eye, "I better go now. I'm meeting up with ― someone." He watches their expressions and then rolls his eyes, a lightness to it that Spencer's never seen on him before. "Yes, I do still have some friends, believe it or not."

Spencer bites his lip, not realizing he had been that obvious.

"Sorry," Jon murmurs, and Brendon shrugs. "I'll see you around, I guess."

"Yeah. See ya." His eyes flick back over to Spencer, and for one fleeting moment, Spencer thinks he might actually say goodbye to him too. He might be hallucinating, he figures he must be, because at the corner of Brendon's mouth he sees the tiniest hint of a smile, but when he blinks, it's gone again. Maybe him losing his friends really was a good thing, after all. 

"Okaaay." Spencer blinks, watching as Brendon makes his way through the crowd of people littering the walls. He waves to a person or two, before meeting Shane at the end of the hallway, greeting him in a light kiss. "That was, well ― decent of him."

"No kidding." 

Spencer narrows his eyes suspiciously. "I hope he doesn't think that I'll be his friend if he starts being nice to me."

Rolling his eyes, Jon laughs, reaching into his locker for his sweater. "I doubt it. Maybe he is just trying to be a better person after everything."

"I didn't know that was even possible for him," he says, dryly. 

"Spencer." He looks at him sternly, like the way his mother would when he was younger and threw vegetables out of the shopping cart. 

Spencer crosses his arms over his chest, pulling his expression into a stubborn frown. "Well, it's true."

Jon sighs, shaking his head and closes his locker shut. "Let's go," he says, readjusting his backpack strap over his shoulder before holding out a hand for Spencer to take. 

Spencer eyes it before cracking a smile and taking it, intertwining finger by finger. 

*

When Brendon passes him in the hallway the following day, Shane at his side, Spencer braces himself. For one fleeting moment, Brendon's eyes flick across his, void of any animosity or the usual air of viciousness, before he's looking away again and turning around the corner. 

Spencer wonders if this is what truce feels like.

*

"So, tell me again what you're writing your final paper on?" Ryan asks, splayed out across the park grass, head resting on Tom's lap. Tom's fiddling with his camera above, and every few minutes he'll stop to snap a picture of Ryan. Sometimes, he'll take a picture of Spencer and Jon, or the scenery around them, but Spencer has a feeling he's only doing that to humour them into thinking he doesn't just want pictures of Ryan. He's not fooling anyone. 

"Bite me," Spencer responds, but it lacks the venom as he leans back into Jon's chest, his hands carding through his hair. He's found over these past few months that he could be irate, steaming through his ears, and all it would take is Jon's hand in his hair and he'd be purring like a cat. "You just want to laugh at me again." 

"Never!" he gasps, feigning innocence while Tom snaps another picture. 

"What's it about?" Jon pipes up, hands pausing in his hair.

Jaw clenching, Spencer shoots Ryan a glare, and he grins back innocently, chewing on the end of a piece of grass. Tom snaps a picture of that, and then a tree. "Nothing." He points a warning finger at Ryan. "Shut up."

Ryan purses his lips together, fighting back a grin. For one split second, Spencer thinks he might actually be a good friend for once, but then in one breath he's saying, "Being young and in looove."

Spencer would so, so kill him if it weren't for Tom sitting right there, ready to pulverize him if he even so much as laid a hand on Ryan. Instead, he settles with his most menacing glare; however, he feels it lacks the usual intimidation factor with the way his cheeks are flaming red. "I hate you," he hisses. Even Tom is looking up from his camera, smiling in amusement. His eyes are laughing at him. "Hate, hate, hate you."

"Are you really?" Jon asks, and Spencer certainly does not turn to look at him. 

"No," he snaps, but he knows it's no use. "It's about different ages and cultures."

"And being in love," Ryan adds, smiling.

Spencer goes to launch himself on Ryan, but Jon holds him back by wrapping an arm across his chest. Killing Ryan has just been moved to the top of his to-do list, and then underlined in red ten times. 

"Really?" Jon asks again. Spencer sneaks a look at him from the corner of his eye, worried his face might split with the way he's grinning so hard. 

"Uh." Spencer feels his mind blank, gut turning over in his belly. Jon leans forward to kiss him, off-centered and awkward from the angle, but Spencer can feel the heaviness in it anyway. 

He blushes deeper, heart racing just as Ryan stands up, tugging Tom along with him. "We're going to take pictures of that tree."

Spencer considers pleading with them to stay, because as much as he loathes Ryan right now, he can't be left alone with Jon to have this conversation. However, they're already scurrying away and giggling, Tom's camera tucked safely in his arm. He adds two more thick, red lines to his to-do list. 

"So," Jon says after a long moment, arm still secured around his chest, "is that what I think it means?" 

"What?" he asks, feigning naivety. He's fairly positive that's Jon's heart he can feel pounding into his back.

"That you ― " he pauses, then rephrases, "That you're young and in love?"

"No. I don't know." He groans, pushing his burning face into his palms. "I'm going to kill Ryan."

"Spencer." Jon tugs on his wrist, pulling his hands from his face. He leans forward over his shoulder, until Spencer is forced to look at him. There's a softness to his eyes, as well as something else that Spencer's never seen before, and it makes his stomach flare up with nerves. "I love you too."

Breath catching in his throat, all that's running through Spencer's mind is, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, over and over again. He feels a bit ridiculous once he realizes, but he grins stupidly up at Jon regardless. It almost feels as if the heart beating against his back matches his own. "Yeah?" 

Jon rolls his eyes fondly, poking him in the rib with a look on his face like he should know this. "Yeah."

Not knowing what else to say, Spencer grins wider, meeting Jon's mouth in a kiss that warms him to his toes. Spencer pretends there's a difference to it now. "Love you," he murmurs after a few kisses, just to see what it feels like on his tongue. He kind of really loves it.

Jon smiles, pecking him one, last kiss, sliding both arms around him in a hug. "You too." 

Across the park, Ryan and Tom are making out under the tree, camera snapping pictures from above. Spencer smiles, and leans back into Jon's chest. 

*

"Tell me that thing you said yesterday again," Spencer prompts. He runs his hands up Jon's bare chest, chewed fingernails snagging the tiny hairs. 

Jon pulls back from his neck, lips red and swollen, frowning in confusion. "I love you?"

Spencer smiles against Jon's pillow, chest flaring. "Yeah. Again."

Jon laughs, shimmying up his body to kiss him. "I love you," he repeats.

Grinning wider, Spencer kisses him until his mouth feels swollen and bruised. He closes his eyes, swallows, and carefully asks, "Would it be incredibly cheesy if I said I wanted to have sex with you now?" 

Breaking out into a mirroring grin, Jon shakes his head. "I wouldn't care even if it was."

Spencer takes a deep breath, stomach fluttering with nerves. The only difference is that he doesn't feel quite so scared anymore. He wonders if it really does have to do with what Jon had said, the talk with Ryan, or something entirely different. "Okay," he says, "I want to," and he figures it doesn't matter, anyway. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Spencer nods, "I'm sure."

They have Jon's house to himself, his parents gone to a fundraiser and his brother out at a friends. Spencer had been thinking about this all of yesterday and today, just like he's sure Jon has, and he's not going to let himself back out this time. 

All their clothes except for their underwear have been discarded, covering the obvious bulges straining against the split in the fabric. Spencer's nervous, so much he can count every heartbeat echoing loud and sound in his eardrums. But he wants this. So much. 

Jon tugs Spencer's boxers down past his thighs, and then moves onto his own. Spencer kicks his off the rest of the way, tangling them with the covers at the end of the bed. When Jon leans over to gather the condom and lube from his bedside table, Spencer eyes his cock, trying not to freak out. It's large and thick, and Spencer doesn't understand how something like that is supposed to fit inside him. Even the thought of a finger or two makes him feel a tiny bit nauseous. 

Leaning overtop of him, Jon presses a soft kiss to his forehead, and Spencer mumbles, voice quiet and vulnerable like a child's, "It's going to hurt." 

"I'm not going to lie," Jon admits, running a soothing hand through his hair, "it will a little at first, but I'll be really careful. I promise."

Spencer inhales, breath strained, and slowly nods. "Okay." 

Jon kisses him, long and drawn-out, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he strokes through his hair. Spencer can feel the nerves slowly begin to dissolve. Sitting up, Jon manoeuvres between his legs, pushing them apart until Spencer gets the hint and slides one leg up, buckling at the knee. 

"You scared?" Jon uncaps the bottle, running a gentle hand along the inside of Spencer's thigh with the other. 

"Yeah," he admits, shakily.

"Don't be," Jon insists, but Spencer thinks that's a lot easier said than done. 

The first finger feels weird and intrusive, but it doesn't hurt, so that's a start. After watching porn, Spencer had thought about doing it once or twice himself, just to see, but he always chickened out the last minute and jerked himself instead. He hasn't even acknowledged that they've apparently already done this since the morning after the party.

The second is more of a strain, and there's a dull sting as he feels himself stretch apart on his fingers. It doesn't feel too particularly good, weird still, like fingers are in his ass, and he's not sure if it's supposed to feel any different. 

"Are you okay?" Jon asks, still hard between his legs. Spencer feels flattered. At least one of them still is, his own now semi-hard against his thigh.

"Yeah," he mumbles, pushing his hair away from his eyes. He can feel sweat begin to trickle from his pores already. 

"I'm going to put a third one in," he warns. "It might sting a little, but it'll get better."

Spencer nods, sucking in a breath as Jon pulls them out and pushes in another, slower this time. It does sting, a lot more than two had, and he has to shut his eyes and hold back a pained gasp that's threatening to escape. "Shit."

Jon kisses the inside of his thigh, and moves his finger around a little. "I know," he murmurs, soothingly.

Spencer presses his head back against the pillow, pushes the balls of his hands into his eyes. "How the hell," he manages through strained breath, "is your dick supposed to fit in there?" 

He chuckles against Spencer's thigh, warm breath trickling against his already hot skin. "It will." He wiggles his fingers more this time, causing Spencer to choke back another noise. Just when he's sure he's going to tell Jon to stop, that there's no way his dick is going to go in there when it already hurts this much, his fingers brush against something inside of him, sending bolts of electricity through his veins. 

"Fuck," he pants, toes curling and body melting into the sheets. "What was that?"

Jon grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "That would be your prostate. It makes wonderful things happen."

"Oh shit. Do that again."

He obliges, and Spencer moans, head tipping back. "Okay," he mumbles, breathless, "it's starting to make sense now."

"Told you." Jon wiggles his fingers once more, and Spencer can feel the stretch as his fingers brush against his prostate one last time before pulling out. "You think you're ready now?" he asks. 

Spencer nods carefully, gnawing on his bottom lip. He feels weird without Jon's fingers, empty almost, and he can't tell if he likes it or not. "Yeah," he replies, raspy before clearing his throat. "Yeah." 

Jon crawls until he's back overtop of him, and grabs onto the condom sitting by Spencer's hip, tearing it open. Spencer watches with fascination, as well as unease, as Jon slides the rubber onto himself, unrolling it until it reaches the very end and then coats himself with lube. Jon leans down to kiss him, and it feels as if every emotion that has ever been between them has been rolled together into one kiss. 

"It'll probably hurt less if you go on your hands and knees," Jon informs him once he pulls away, eyes flicking across Spencer's in question. 

"But I couldn't face you then, right?" 

Jon shakes his head, and Spencer looks over him, thinking it over hesitantly. He shakes his head after a moment, and says, "No, I want to face you. I want to know it's you." 

"Okay. Sure." Jon smiles, seemingly pleased with the answer. "Let's just start with your legs around my waist first." Spencer nods, obliging as he lifts his legs until they're fitted securely around. "You ready?" he asks. 

"Yeah," Spencer breathes, skin buzzing. 

Jon reaches down, aligning himself until Spencer can feel the wet tip of the condom press against him. He closes his eyes, and takes a strangled breath, heart pounding in his ribcage. This is it, he thinks. After this, there's no going back. "Okay," he says as a warning for Spencer, maybe himself, and slowly begins to push inside.

"Fuck. Fuck," Spencer whines, feeling his nose and the back of his eyelids begin to sting. It hurts. It really fucking hurts, and he clings tighter to Jon's shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh. He's always been a bit of a wimp for pain, but this is just too much. "Oh my god, Jon. I can't."

"Shh," Jon manages to force out, pushing a hand through his hair soothingly. "It's okay. Just hang in there for a second. It'll get better." Spencer can tell by his tightened expression, and the heavy strain in his voice that he's trying not to appear too pleasured for Spencer's sake. He'd appreciate it if it weren't for the excruciating pain that his dick is currently causing. He tries to think back to that feeling of when Jon's fingers hit his prostate, reminding himself that better is to come, but he can't think past anything other than the sharp pain shooting up his spine. 

There's a reason people do this. Ryan said it feels amazing. The men in porn seem to enjoy it quite thoroughly. He just needs to suck it up.

Jon moves his hips forward a little more, and this time he can't help it as a small gasp escapes from his throat. Well, Spencer thinks, at least someone is enjoying it.

"Can you please just ― find that thing again?" Spencer chokes. 

"I'm trying," Jon grinds out, titling his hips slightly to the left as he pushes in once more. "Shit." He tightens his grip on Spencer's thigh, hot breath trickling down his neck. "You feel so fucking good."

Spencer swallows, wishing he could say the same. Right now all he can feel is the constant burn where he's stretched around Jon, more than should ever be held possible. 

By the third thrust the sting is slowly beginning to fade, replaced with a low, subtle burn and mostly discomfort, like he has foreign object shoved inside him that isn't supposed to be there. "Shit, Jon," he whines. "Find it. You just had it like two ― " He's cut off by his own moan as Jon brushes against it, and he digs his fingernails into his shoulders, creating small half moons. 

"Yeah?" Jon asks, breathless, eyes lighting up with excitement. 

"Yeah," Spencer echoes, toes curling into Jon's back as he pushes back in. A buzzing warmth spreads through him, pooling at his stomach, and okay, yeah. He could definitely get used to this.

He focuses on Jon finally, panting as he jerks his hips forward, beads of sweat pooling on his forehead. Sliding his arms up, he wraps them around Jon's neck and pulls him down until their mouths bump together. Spencer licks above his upper-lip, the drops of sweat salty against his tongue. 

"Does it still hurt?" Jon asks as Spencer pushes back to meet his thrust. 

"Not really," he breathes, shaking his head. Now that there's no longer nearly as much pain as before, Spencer closes his eyes and focuses on the warm drag of Jon's cock inside of him. He likes the feeling of him, hot and thick; the first one ever. He likes that he fits inside of him, like a puzzle piece. "You feel good," he murmurs, returning Jon's earlier sentiment. 

"You too," Jon responds, nipping along his jaw. Grabbing a hold of Spencer's thigh, he pushes it further up his waist, hooking it underneath his armpit, before doing the same with the other. "Better angle," he clarifies. "It'll feel better. Go in deeper."

It's a weird position, with his feet just above his head, and Spencer wasn't even aware he could bend this way. Jon's right though, because when he pushes in again, it slides in even deeper than before, pressing into that spot. He mewls, sweat prickling from every molecule on his body. 

"I might come soon," Jon warns, taking Spencer's earlobe between his teeth and nibbling gently. "It's been awhile." Spencer nods as Jon's hand slides between their bodies, taking his leaking cock between his fingers. Between Jon inside of him as deep as he can go, and a hand on his cock, it's almost too much for Spencer to take. 

"Me too."

Spencer's the first to come, toes curling and spine sinking into the mattress. He feels himself clench tight around Jon as he moans a strew of curses. 

"Shit, Spencer," he grunts. "Too much." With one last jerk of his hips, he's letting go as well. Spencer concentrates on the feeling as the condom fills up inside of him, momentarily wondering what it would feel like without.

Jon jerks through it, Spencer already finished, his come coating Jon's hand and his own belly. Through the post-orgasm cloud he can feel the steady throb where he's still stretched around Jon. He's not sure he wants him to pull out, scared it might feel even worse. 

In the end, Jon does though, condom slimy and full as he pulls it off himself and ties it up, tossing it into the wastebasket under his nightstand. The empty feeling is back once more; however multiplied, openness tied in with a dull ache. In a way, Spencer finds himself liking it; it's a physical reminder that says Jon was here. 

Reaching between his legs, he even feels stretched open, still wet from the lube. Jon watches him, growling from the back of his throat. "Feels weird," he explains, shrugging, and Jon bends down, grinning as he kisses him. 

"God, I love you."

Spencer grins back into his mouth stupidly, something fluttering from within his stomach. "You too."

"Be right back." Jon pecks him one more kiss before rolling off the bed, and heads towards the door. Spencer's eyes run over his bare butt, the outlines of his toned back and muscles, and the small hairs that curl around his neck. His boyfriend is perfect. 

When he returns a minute later, he has a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He slides the glass and two small, white pills onto the nightstand, the same ones from the morning after the party. Crawling onto the bed, he straddles Spencer's hips, and begins to wipe the come from his belly with the warm cloth. "How are you feeling?" he asks, running his other hand along his thigh. 

"Good." He smiles languidly. "Mostly."

"Good," Jon echoes, leaning down to kiss him before placing the cloth on the nightstand. "The pills are for you. Later, if it hurts too much." 

"Thanks." He smoothes his palm across Jon's freckled shoulders, and murmurs quietly, cheeks heating, "I can still feel you in me."

Jon makes a sound from the back of his throat, another growl, and leans in, kissing him hungrily. "Love you."

"Love you too," Spencer returns, laughing. He still loves the way it feels against his tongue. He'd say it all day, everyday, if he could. 

Jon rolls off of him, grabbing onto the blanket tangled at their feet, and pulls it up to their shoulders. Slinging an arm across Spencer's belly, he kisses his shoulder. "Sleep?" 

Spencer nods, eyelids feeling heavy. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Sounds good." 

He falls asleep moments later, counting Jon's breaths against his shoulder. 

*

"You had sex!" Ryan cheers the second Spencer enters his room the next afternoon, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug. 

Spencer rolls his eyes, feeling heat creep up his neck. "You're so weird," he says, and then, eyes shifting, "Do you think my parents are going to know?" 

Ryan narrows his eyes, contemplating. "Walking like that, maybe."

"Shit." Spencer groans, pressing his hand to his forehead. 

"Oh, whatever." Ryan snorts, flicking his wrist. "They knew it was coming. They found your condoms."

"But that doesn't mean I want to talk about it with them!" 

He shrugs impatiently, clearly growing bored with the topic of conversation. "Whatever. We'll talk about that after." Grabbing onto Spencer's arm, he drags him over his bed and sits him down. He grins, eyes flashing with excitement. His best friend is so, so, so weird. And creepy. Definitely creepy. "So, how was it?" 

"Um. Good," he replies, attempting to sound nonchalant. However, he assumes that the stupid grin spreading across his face more or less ruins it. Ryan gives him a look, and he sighs. "Okay, pretty great."

"See," Ryan says, knocking him in the arm. "No reason to freak out, right?" 

Spencer shrugs. "Still nerve-wracking as fuck."

"But you still did it!" Ryan cries enthusiastically, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

Spencer shrugs him off, face heating. "Who are you?" he demands. When he said Ryan had started acting differently ever since Tom came along, he meant it. 

"Hey," he says, defensive, "this is a big deal, okay? I'm allowed to be excited for you. It's part of my rights of being your best friend." 

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I guess so. But I think you're almost more excited than I am, and there's something a little bit wrong with that." 

"Whatever," Ryan huffs, and falls back onto the bed, curling into a ball. "You're no fun."

Facing him, Spencer lies down onto his side, placing both hands underneath his head. 

"It's weird growing up, isn't it?" Ryan asks after a moment, voice soft and face pulled into careful contemplation. 

"Yeah." Spencer swallows. "It is."

"When I was a kid I used to think about what I was going to be like in high school. What girl I'd date." Spencer shoots him doubtful a look, and Ryan laughs, rolling his eyes. As far as he can remember, the last time either of them thought they liked girls was back when they were still trading Pokemon cards. "I didn't think I'd have sex while I was still in high school, you know? I mean, sex was a foreign concept, but still."

Spencer laughs. "I didn't think I was ever going to have sex."

Ryan smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. "I didn't think you would either."

Spencer punches him in the arm, and Ryan laughs harder. "Asshole."

"I'm kidding," he says, holding his hand to his stomach, and Spencer rolls his eyes. After a few minutes pass, Ryan says, "I never thought I'd get a boyfriend like Tom." 

"But you did."

"Yeah," Ryan responds, softly, "I did."

He rolls onto his side, eyes drifting past Spencer's shoulder in thought. Spencer knows that look. "You know he's crazy about you." 

Tilting his head to the side, Ryan looks at Spencer, a small trace of uncertainty in his eyes. "Yeah?" he sighs, eyes slipping shut. "I mean, I don't know. I guess I'm just worried sometimes." 

"You need to give yourself a little more credit, Ry," Spencer insists, poking his side lightly. Ryan's always had his insecurities; he's his own worst critic, picking himself apart bit by bit, and Spencer knows Pete was certainly no help. He always wondered if there was a little more to Ryan saying he didn't want a boyfriend, but he never opened his eyes long enough to realize until Pete. Sometimes he wonders if it would've turned out any differently if he only would've been a better friend. 

"It's hard," he admits after a moment, voice lowered into a whisper. He looks like a kid again, curled up with wide, scared eyes and a pouting mouth. He looks like the same Ryan he had been ten years ago, wrapped in himself after a fight with his dad or another kid had picked on him at school; vulnerable and alone, even though he never was. 

Spencer reaches forward, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I know." He watches as Ryan's Adam's Apple bobs up and down as he swallows. "You're awesome, okay? And you deserve Tom. I mean it. Don't think that you don't ― or really anyone for that matter." 

Ryan stays quiet at first, but slowly, he nods. "Thanks," he murmurs. "I'm sorry I had to go and get all emo on you. You know, after your big night and all." And suddenly, quick as a blink, Ryan's back, smiling at him impishly. 

"Shut up." Spencer laughs, rolling his eyes once again. "You're such an idiot."

"I know," he replies. "But that's why you're my best friend."

Spencer smiles, reaching forward to ruffle his hair, and says, "Yeah. I guess so."

*

When Jon sits him down the following week, looking regretful, Spencer immediately assumes the worst. "Are you breaking up with me?" he asks quickly, eyes wide and frightful as he stares up at Jon. 

"What?" He frowns in bewilderment. Taking one look Spencer's serious expression, he shakes his head, chuckling. "No, idiot. I'm not breaking up with you."

Spencer breathes a sigh of relief, muscles relaxing. "Well, then," he asks cautiously, not sure he even wants to know, "what is it?" 

Taking a nervous breath, Jon runs his hands through his hair. "I decided I'm going to go to UCLA."

Spencer swallows, heart sinking inside his chest. "UCLA?" Ever since Jon told him about the acceptance letter, Spencer had brushed it off, telling himself he’d end up staying. Especially when two weeks following, Tom decided he was staying and going to college here. He thought it was all talk. He didn't think Jon would actually end up leaving him. "You're going to UCLA?" 

Sighing, Jon gets down on his knees, puts his hand on Spencer's and squeezes. "It's only four hours away. Three if I drive really fast. It won't be so bad. I can come home every weekend and every break. You know how many breaks we get in college?" 

"But ― California."

"Spencer." He presses his head down onto Spencer's lap, hugging his legs to his chest. "It won't be so bad. You'll see," he insists, voice muffled into denim.

"But Tom's staying here. Why can't you?" 

"I know that." He sits up, and reaches to move some of Spencer's hair out of eyes, looking up at him. "It was a really difficult decision, it's just ― it's L.A. I've been here all my life, I need something new. Even just for awhile."

"But ― " he swallows, rubbing underneath his eyes. He is not going to cry over this. He refuses to. "I'm not there," he finishes lamely.

He sighs, remorseful. "I know that, Spence. That's the thing that's making it so hard, I just ― Please, understand. I could've went to Chicago, but I chose UCLA so I could still see you."

"People break up when they go to college though." He pouts, sniffing. He's heard stories. There's all these new people there, thousands, ones he's going to see everyday in class, in the dorms. Who's to say he's going to say no because he has some high school boyfriend a state away? Would he even blame him?

"Spencer," he repeats, firmer this time. "We're not going to break up. I'll see you every single weekend." He moves to sit beside Spencer on his couch, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I love you, but I need to do this for me, you know?" 

Spencer swallows, and slowly nods. He knows Jon wants to do this, needs to do this, and he wouldn't ever expect him not to do something just because of him. He couldn't live with himself if he was that guy Jon looked back at years down the line, and regretted staying for; but it doesn't stop it from sucking. How can he go from seeing Jon everyday to only on the weekend?

"I love you," Jon says, kissing him again. 

Spencer sighs, caving, and kisses him back. "You too," he replies, but it doesn't quite reach the full enthusiasm. Junior year is when it's supposed to get good; he's an upperclassman now, but with Jon gone and Ryan busy with Tom, he's doubting that will happen. Brendon's still looking for some friends, maybe he can befriend him. 

Yeah. Right.

"It won't be so bad," Jon insists, smoothing a hand up his thigh. "You'll see."

Spencer groans, burying his face into Jon's chest. He smells like coffee and cologne and his mango body wash, and he makes a mental note to steal some of his clothes before he goes away so he can smell him whenever the need strikes. "It better."

"It will," he insists, running a hand through the back of his hair. He's going to miss that too. God, he's going to miss a lot of things. 

"It'll be fine," Jon repeats, quieter this time, and Spencer wonders who it is he's trying to convince this time.

*

There's always an eeriness to the halls on the last day of school; locker by locker, open and empty, loose papers littered among the ground, and the animated chatter of seniors who realized they aren't just finished for the summer, but forever. Spencer's never really thought twice about that, only excited for his two months of freedom, but now he's forced to and he wishes he wasn't. 

The four of them meet in the cafeteria after the last bell, everyone else already gone and welcoming summer. Spencer doesn't even care how lame this makes him. All he's worried about is how next year Jon won't be sitting with them at the table anymore, and neither will Tom. Jon will be miles and miles away in another school, a thousand times larger, with a thousand new faces. A thousand new faces who won't be him.

They take their usual spots, Jon beside Spencer and Ryan across from them, Tom to his right. The room is empty around them, the canteen closed and the room spotless from when the janitor had cleaned after lunch. It feels weird, and Spencer hangs onto the moment.

"So, this is it," Ryan says thoughtfully, hooking his chin onto Tom's shoulder. Technically, they haven't graduated yet, the ceremony not until next week, but it feels like they have anyway. 

"It is," Jon and Tom reply simultaneously, before looking at each other and laughing. 

"How does it feel to know you're never coming back?" 

"Fucking weird," Jon answers, just as Tom says, "Awesome."

Underneath the table, Jon grabs onto Spencer's hand and squeezes. Spencer looks up, meeting his gaze, and when Jon smiles, he can't help but smile back, chest lightening the slightest. 

"It's weird though," Tom agrees, looking around with an almost regretful expression. "I mean, we've spent the past four years of our life here, and now we'll never be back." He stops to reconsider, ruffling Ryan's hair as he says, "Well unless, of course, it's to pick up you little munchkins." Ryan makes a face, sticking out his tongue, while the rest of them laugh. 

Spencer's going to miss this a lot. 

"You guys will have to come visit me sometimes," Jon says. "Take a trip and come hang out in L.A." 

Spencer smiles despite himself. He has to admit, if there's one thing he's looking forward to about this whole ordeal, it's weekend trips to California. 

"Of course," Tom says while Ryan runs a hand through his hair, curling a strand behind his ear. "We wouldn't pass up on that. You can introduce us to all your new celebrity friends."

Jon laughs. "Of course." 

Spencer hooks himself onto Jon's shoulder, pressing his face into his neck. He wishes he could freeze this moment, and stay here with his three favourite people forever. 

They end up staying longer than they first intended, only leaving when a janitor pops his head inside, telling them it's approaching five and the school is closing soon. It takes them all a little longer than usual to get themselves up and head towards the door, as if they're all dreading leaving just as much as Spencer. In the end, Spencer has to curl his hand around Jon's, and have him practically drag him outside.

He pauses at the door, looking back at their lone table among the others. He remembers when all he wanted was for the year to come to an end, and now that it is, it's almost the last thing he wants. 

"We have a whole summer, you know," Jon says quietly into his ear, snapping him from his thoughts. "It's not the end," he reassures. "It wont even be the end then."

Spencer meets his eyes, Ryan and Tom already off down the hall, hands intertwined. Ryan's singing, "Schools out for summer," while Tom finishes with, "School's out forever," before they burst out laughing. 

"A whole summer," Jon repeats, leaning forward to knock his nose against his and peck him a kiss. 

Spencer smiles softly. "You're right." Kissing him once more, he grabs a hold of Jon's hand and holds tight. "A whole summer."

Down the hall, Ryan yells, "Come on, losers! We'd kind of like to get out of here before the summer’s over." 

Laughing, Spencer tugs on Jon's hand and follows.


End file.
